


Lost & Found

by shamelessmash



Series: Endless Wonder [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Warehouse 13
Genre: Action/Adventure, Agent John, Agent Sherlock, Alternate Universe, Bickering, Case Fic, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash, did I mention bickering?, fic series, mycroft is their boss, slow burn johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessmash/pseuds/shamelessmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 2 : Lost & Found</p><p>6 weeks after their first Warehouse case together, Sherlock and John have an unexpected visit from Irene Adler, who stirs up their already tense relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tangential Energy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning : This is Episode 2 of the Endless Wonder series. If you have not read Episode 1, you will not understand what's going on.
> 
> As mentionned in fic one, this fic series is thought out as a "TV season/series" and each fic is an episode. The number of episodes is still uncertain at the moment because it used to be 6 and now it might be 8 so we'll see how it goes.
> 
> This episode is a bit special because it is the first one that features and completely original artifact (first mention of it in chapter 2). If there is one similar to this in the Warehouse univers or in any other univers, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to plagerise. This artifact is in complete honesty the result of 2 days of brainstorming with my partner and Not-John-Watson. 
> 
> I will post the links to the Warehouse 13 Artifacts at the end of the fic so not to spoil the story. The artifacts that have a link to the overall plot line will not be linked to, cause you know... spoilers :D
> 
> Special thanks to my awesome beta's [not-john-watson](http://not-john-watson.tumblr.com/), [best-url-of-all-time](http://best-url-of-all-time.tumblr.com/) and newly added [nepture-centari](http://neptune-centari.tumblr.com/) (we needed at least one native english speaker in the team) for their patience and support.  
> Go follow them on Tumblr!

**Episode 2 : Lost & Found**

“John!”

The former soldier sat up in his bed as his hands reached for the Tesla under his pillow and aimed it towards the door, his eyes wide as they roamed the room for possible threats.

“John! We have a ping!”

He layed back down heavily, cursing his partner for waking him up this way. The clock displayed 7h30 in bright red. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night like last week. He rubbed his face as he heard the cause of his sudden wakening walk up the stairs.

“John?” The voice came from behind the door. With his eyes closed, John waited for him to open his door. “John, get up we need to-” Sherlock started to say as he pushed it open and walked into the room, only to find the soldier lying in bed, his eyes closed with an outstretched arm pointing the Tesla at him.

“Next time you wake me up with unnecessary alarm, you will regret it.”

“A ping is a perfectly legitimate reason to wake you up.”

“Not by screaming as if we were under attack.” John opened his eyes when he heard Sherlock sigh.

“If you miss firing guns so much-”

“Shut up.”

“Will you stop being-”

“I said: Shut. Up.”

“We need to go-”

“I am not getting up while you’re here and if you do not get out this instant I am using this.” His hand tightened around the Tesla as he held Sherlock’s gaze. The agent only sneered in response and walked out, muttering something about John being touchy in the morning. With a loud sigh, the former soldier got out of bed and dressed, making sure to open and close his drawers as loudly as possible. He didn’t care how childish he was acting, this man needed to learn how to cohabitate with a trained soldier or he would end up bruised and battered.

With the Tesla tugged in the hem of his trousers, pressing against his lower back, John went down the stairs into the kitchen. Sherlock was at his desk, hunched over his computer.

“We’re going to Plymouth.” He informed his partner without looking up.

“To get what?” John asked over the sound of water filling the kettle.

“Napoleon’s Violin.” He was about to ask what exactly was Napoleon’s Violin but the new agent was pretty sure the answer he was going to get was it’s a violin and it belonged to Napoleon.

“What is it doing in Plymouth?” Watson asked instead as he leaned against the half opened sliding door between the kitchen and the sitting room.

“Well, technically it should get to Plymouth today.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got the ping for the Violin a week ago when it appeared up for auction on eBay.”

“EBay? How-?” John began, but then thought better of it. “Never mind. How do you know it belonged to Napoleon?”

“Because of the engraving on the back.” The agent pointed to his computer screen. John moved closer to see a close up of the bottom of the violin where he could read _Elba 1814_.

“And that makes it an artifact because...?”

“Napoleon played this violin while he was in exile on the island of Elba.”

“Stop doing that.” Warned the ex soldier shook his head, frowning.

“Doing what?”

“Half explaining things; maybe it’s obvious to you how a man changed his violin into an artifact by simply playing it, but it isn’t to me.” John reproached. Sherlock’s eyes wandered towards the ceiling, displaying the figure of a man dealing with someone who was deliberately being stupid.

“If you had just gone through a trial and were being exiled to an island by the empire you helped build, how would you feel?” John was unsure if it was rhetorical, being unused to his partner asking about his opinion on an artifact, or artifact related things, until the agent carried on speaking. Doing what John had started calling the _one man show-off_. “Napoleon did what he could with what he had. In the first few months on Elba he created a small navy and army, developed the local iron mines, and issued decrees on modern agricultural methods. But it wasn’t enough. That simple, small island was nothing compared to what he had seen, lived, created. So every evening, he poured his frustration, his anger, his ego, his ambitions; all of it was imbued into the violin.”

“By playing it?”

“No, by spreading butter with it. Of course by playing it! Instruments can tap easily into the player’s emotions. I guess that’s where the saying “music of the soul” would come from. It’s more about the brainwaves synchronising with the instruments vibrations, but there isn’t much research worth reading in that field, not until human testing is legalised.” John closed his eyes and chose to ignore what the man was implying before he had had a chance to finish his first cup of tea.

“So what does it do? Compel you to take over the world? Build an army? Make your ego inflate until you burst? Give you a French accent?”

“It summons glowing, concussive balls of violent energy that is comparable to a canon ball. Hitting a G sharp on the violin could cause an entire town to erupt in a wave of violence.” John was about to ask if he was serious, but it just felt like déjà view.

“If it’s that dangerous, why didn’t you just bid big to make sure you got it?” John asked as he moved back into the kitchen to silence the boiling kettle.

“Because it would attract too much attention.”

“Then why do we have to go to Plymouth?”

“Because that’s where it’s heading. We need to leave now or we’ll miss the train.” Sherlock said as he closed the lid of his computer. John walked to his chair with his tea and smiled. The agent may think he was an idiot, but John could tell Sherlock was dodging the question.

“You lost the auction.” John claimed smugly.

“Your powers of deduction astonish me.” It was fascinating how the man could find a way to put an eye roll into sound.

“You were outsmarted.”

“I was not.” Sherlock protested quickly, proving John’s point as he started fibbing. ”She bid at the last second, fair strategy in online auctions.”

“What was your strategy then?”

“... Waited too long.” He muttered. John beamed at Sherlock’s defeated look hidden behind his pride and frustration. The soldier let the silence linger on just a bit longer with a satisfied smile on his face before getting back to the matter at hand.

“Shouldn’t we also be investigating who put the violin up for bid?”

“The Warehouse computer is already running a search on the seller’s IP address while we go bag the artifact.”

“Why hasn’t it been bagged before? How can it still be in circulation after over a hundred years if it causes so much destruction, and then end up on eBay of all places?”

“Endless wonder.” Sherlock answered sullenly, mimicking his brother.

“Oh come on, that can’t be your answer for everything Warehouse related.”

“How else can you explain what we do for a living?” Sherlock cut in before John could dive into what he considered futile discussions about the mysteries of their profession. “As much as I would like to, I don’t have all the answers. Can we just get on with it now?”

“I am finishing this tea…” John held the mug to his lip and took a slow sip. “And I will take a shower before we leave.”

“You can worry about your personal hygiene later and we can get coffee at the station. We can’t, however, miss this train.”

“Why should we leave now, the package won’t get there until tomorrow at best.”

“Because I want to intercept the package _before_ it arrives. That and mailing artifacts... well, let’s just say the faster we get to it, the smaller the mess.” Sherlock’s face was thunderous.

“Still, given standard delivery time of the Royal Mail-”

“I hacked her email account.” Sherlock’s voice was casual as he cut off his partner, as if the privacy of other people concerned him as much as the colour of Mrs. Hudson’s aprons. ”She’s paying extra to get it by 2 pm today.” He finished as he reached for his coat and turned with and expecting look towards John.

“Bloody hell.” John groaned and downed as much of his tea as he could. “Next time, make sure you win the stupid auction.” The soldier complained as he put his cup in the sink, grabbed his jacket and followed his partner out of the flat.

* * *

 “Any news on Manning?” John asked, sipping his disappointing coffee as the train left the station. He had tried several times to ask Mycroft about it but all he ever got was a somewhat sympathetic smile and an evasive answer. John suspected Sherlock had his own investigation going on. He didn’t have any proof, but he was fairly certain Sherlock was doing it more out of spite at his brother than the actual puzzle. But John didn’t care for their race, stopping Manning was all that mattered.

“No.” Sherlock answered without looking up from his Farnsworth.

“Heard anything from Mycroft?” All he got was a short hard stare from Sherlock. That would be a no, then. Sherlock was about to go back to whatever he was reading on the screen, but John wasn’t going to stop there. “How about the artifact activity around the pawn shop area in the past two years, did anything pop up on the computer?” Sherlock sighed dramatically and was about to speak when his gaze crossed John’s icy stare, daring him to do anything other than giving him an honest answer.

“Not as much as I’d hoped. So either they’ve been taken out of the city, or these people knew what they were really buying.” Sherlock answered, resigned.

“Can we trace the buyers?”

“I would, if Mycroft hadn’t taken everything in the shop.” Sherlock said exasperated. “Unless he finds something, and God forbid he tells us about it, I’ve got nothing.” He concluded. John sighed heavily and turned to look out the window at the passing scenery, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Rubbing his face with his hands, John looked at his partner, trying to get his brain to focus on the violin.

“I thought you said you couldn’t make an artifact tracker because there’s no specific frequency for artifacts.” He began.

“Still true.” Sherlock answered, unwavering.

“Then how did you track the violin on eBay? Or artifacts activity around the pawn shop? Or the pings?”

“By tracking unusual activity.” John blinked at him. The thickness of his partner constantly amazed him.

“As in?” John prompted sarcastically.

“Like a video on YouTube where you see someone walk through walls.” Sherlock offered dramatically.

“How do you know it’s not special effects?”

“Footage screening program. Or it could be news of a man killing his children.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s an artifact.” John argued.

“No, but when there’s no record of anger issues, or abuse, no money problems, no motive to kill, yet there’s a murder, it’s worth looking into.” John took a moment to reflect on what he had just heard and more questions kept popping into his head.

“So how did you find the violin if it didn’t act up yet?”

“The Warehouse has been aware of it for some time but didn’t know its whereabouts. The computer was running an image recognition program online, focusing on the inscription on the back. I never really expect anything to pop up when the program runs on known artifacts that have been lost over time and yet, here we are.” The agent concluded, putting his phone away and leaning back in his seat, eyes closed.

“Does Mycroft often take cases of his own?” John insisted. Sherlock kept his eyes closed but lifted an eyebrow.

“Often? No. But it does happen.” So whoever had brought Manning back to life was worth Mycroft’s attention.

“Who do you think could be behind it?”

“No idea.” Sherlock answered offhandedly. John snorted, making Sherlock’s eyes open suddenly. “What?” He inquired.

“You always have a theory.”

“Not always.” He replied.

“Well, in the time I’ve known you, though short, you _always_ have a theory.” Sherlock lifted his chin.

“I never theorise without all the facts.” He concluded.

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, unlike you, I can’t just turn it off. My brain is like an engine that never stops; all of the information around me, facts, evidence. it’s all constantly being analysed and classified.”

“Ok, but who do you-?” John started but Sherlock cut him off.

“No. There aren’t enough facts to theorise and I loathe speculation.”

“It’s been almost 6 weeks without a word from Mycroft, why won’t he tell us anything?” The soldier insisted, his impatience growing steadily as the weeks went by. The cases were enough to keep him occupied in the beginning, but the longer the wait, the heavier Manning weighed on his conscience.

“Same reason as me; he doesn’t have anything. You know better than anyone else what Manning is capable of. You know we can find him if he doesn’t want to be found.” John’s lips were a thin line and as white as his knuckles as he tightened his hands into fists. He looked out the window, watched the horizon. It wasn’t worth answering. Sherlock was right and he knew it and it only infuriated him even more.

All they could do was wait.

He hated waiting. It made him feel helpless. Watson was a man of action, and being kept in the dark only fanned the flames. Sherlock took in all the signs of rage as his eyes roamed over his partner. John could feel his stare and ignored it, his eyes looking in the distance but not seeing anything. His mind was too caught up on Manning.

To Sherlock’s relief, they rode in silence the rest of the way to Plymouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the man who had tried to blow them up, but Sherlock knew that Manning was only the messenger. John was right, the agent did have his suspicions, but until he had more information, he preferred not to consider things too closely. He didn’t like where the facts where leading him at the moment. He didn’t like Mycroft putting his nose into cases, but this one... Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose. The violin, he told himself; no time to think about something that wasn’t his problem at the moment, he had a case to focus on.

* * *

“Just, let me talk to her.” John insisted as they walked up to the front door of the woman who had won the online auction.

“What? Why?” Sherlock asked with a frown.

“Because you tend to... rub people the wrong way.”

“So? It’s a very effective way to get information.”

“No, it’s not. It’s rude.” John pointed out, deadpan. 

“Yes, it is. Angry or frightened people give more information because they are so concentrated on their emotions they don’t think about what they’re saying.”

“Look. I would just like it if once in a while we _didn’t_ get the door slammed in our faces because you piss people off for the sake of efficiency.” John pleaded as he rang the doorbell.

“You of all people should know that seconds count when you’re saving lives.”

“You know what, sod this. Shut up and let me talk.”

“Touchy.” Sherlock replied with a smirk.

“I swear to-” John threatened under his breath as the door opened up to reveal a woman in her late forties dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. John plastered his friendly doctor smile on.

“Can I help you?” She said as she looked both men over, curious as to what they could be selling.

“Hello, I’m Agent Watson, this is Agent Holmes.” John introduced, mistakenly turning his head to look at Sherlock as he said his name. The fake smile his partner was wearing easily fell into the “creepy” category, making John frown and stare momentarily.

“Hello.” The woman repeated, looking from one man to the other. Sherlock nodded at her, the creepy fake smile making her take a step back. John cleared his throat and started questioning her.

“Are you Mrs. Turner?”

“Yes, um, what is this about?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“We’re from the department of-” John started to say when Sherlock cut in.

“The DOCD” He said, flashing his badge. ”this is of the utmost importance; did you purchase a violin online this morning?” The creepy smile was long gone and replaced by an intimidating stare as Sherlock took a step forward, taking advantage of his height to loom over her. John tried his best not to seem completely irritated at his partner undermining him in front of the civilian they were questioning.

“I-, the D-DOCD?” The woman repeated uncertainly.

“Did you purchase a violin online?” John repeated softly, trying to take back control of the conversation.

“What does it stand for?”

“Disease Outbreak Control Department. You need to answer the question Mrs. Turner.” Sherlock insisted, deadpan.

“I, I did, yes, but, disease outbreak? What’s going on, what happened?” Mrs. Turner’s voice was slowly becoming distressed.

“No need to panic, but we we’re going to need to take the violin with us.” John tried to calm her.

“What? Why? What happened? What’s wrong with it?”

“Confidential information. Where is it?” Sherlock insisted.

“Just hand it to us and it’s going to be alright” John added.

“Annie, no.” Mrs. Turner muttered to herself, her eyes looking into the distance.

“Annie?” Sherlock repeated.

“Mrs. Turner? Where’s the violin?” John Insisted.

“I don’t have it.” The woman admitted as she crossed her arms.

“What?” The new agent said without thinking. He turned towards his partner just in time to see a surprised look flash across his face.

“Where is it?” Sherlock asked again, his tone a bit more urgent.

“Annie, my niece, it’s a gift for her. She always wanted to learn the violin. Oh, my god, is she going to be ok?” She explained, her hands covering her cheeks, eyes filled with worry.

“Where is she? I need her address.” Sherlock pushed impatiently.

“Bideford, but-”

“Please, every second counts.” John said, trying to calm her down. His partner’s words were making her unnecessarily upset and he could see she was on the verge of tears.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” Her voice cracked as she half closed the door and went inside. John turned to Sherlock slowly.

“What the hell was that?” His tone was hushed but harsh.

“What?” The agent questioned innocently.

“What happened to letting me talk?” John’s words came through gritted teeth.

“I never agreed.” Sherlock answered truthfully, his fingers flying over his Farnsworth, probably already looking for train tickets to Bideford.

“We’ve talked about this; you can’t keep going around doing whatever the hell you want.”

“I use the most efficient methods possible with the resources I have while keeping under the radar. You should be taking notes instead of complaining.” John looked at his partner in disbelief.

“Have you ever been punched during an interrogation?”

“Why is it always about physical violence with you?” The agent asked with a disgusted look.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” John muttered as the woman’s approaching footsteps could be heard.

“Here you are.” The woman handed them a piece of paper with an address and a name. Sherlock grabbed and scanned the paper quickly and immediately took out his phone. John fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs and smiled at Mrs. Turner.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” John told her.

“Just make sure she’s safe.” Mrs. Turner insisted, her eyes filled with worry. Sherlock turned and started walking down the path leading back to the road. John sighed and smiled tightly at the woman.

“Will do. Goodbye.” He left awkwardly, his eyes shooting bullets at the back of Sherlock’s head as he caught up.

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t check the shipping address.” John asked after 20 minutes of silence on the train to Bideford.

“I checked the name on the credit card to find her house, how was I supposed to know it was a present?”

“You said you hacked her email and saw she paid extra for same day shipping!”

“I’m sorry; did you have something other than your job to do today?”

“Why do you insist on being an arsehole all the time?”

“Why do you insist on being nice?” Sherlock shot back, his eyes still on his Farnsworth.

“Well I for one don’t really like being shouted at.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Well you aren’t alone anymore; you’re part of a team now.”

“God, how I loathe repeating myself. My methods are more efficient; you’re new to the job, you’ll get it eventually.”

“We wouldn’t even be here if you had just bought the violin in the first place.”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Sherlock hissed. “I told you already, I didn’t want to attract attention.”

“And going around the world insulting people isn’t attracting attention?” John sneered, the memories still fresh in his mind.

“I don’t have time to worry about emotions when lives are at stake.” Sherlock’s tone was serious, but something was off, there was something he wasn’t telling him. But either way, what Sherlock was saying was still disturbing.

“How can you devote your life to saving lives and yet care so little for humans in general?” John asked, struggling to keep the anger in his voice under control.

“Very easily.” Sherlock’s cold stare hit a nerve in John.

“Have you gotten robot parts over the years?” John’s tone matched his partner’s.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Says the man whose very mission is to look for a violin that can destroy a city.” John huffed humourlessly.

“Listen, I have been an agent for 10 years, I know what I’m doing. Now you either do as I say, or you can leave.” Sherlock said as he stared at his partner, silently daring him to give up. John held his gaze. He knew what Sherlock was playing at and decided to employ a different tactic.

“Yeah, you never did tell me what happened to your partners. Were you as much as a prick with them as you are with me?”

“You were in the army, aren’t you use to dealing with arseholes?”

“Yes, but even the biggest assholes know what being part of a team means. But with you, you barge in head first and I’m left to follow you best I can and pick up the pieces.”

“I do not barge in head first.” Sherlock protested. “I always have a plan.”

“Would it kill you to tell it to me?!”

“Explaining is tedious.” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well until I develop mind reading abilities, a little head’s up about what’s going on in that big brain of yours would be appreciated.” John asserted.

“Fine.” Sherlock conceded. “Anything else?” Sarcasm present in his tone.

“Where do I start?” John answered, equally sarcastic.

* * *

“You’re lucky we can’t hear the violin yet.” John told Sherlock as they walked into an almost empty primary school. The setting sun was pouring through the tall windows as they stood in the lobby, not quite sure which way to go.

“Will you stop already?” Sherlock retorted.

“I will not. You messed up and won’t admit to it.”

“I did not _mess up_.” The agent argued. “And how was I supposed to know the mother could find a violin teacher for her daughter the same day she got the instrument.”

“Well telling her if she wanted her daughter to succeed as a musician she was 4 years too late and that the genetic malformation of her knuckles won’t improve her daughter’s playing, qualifies as messing up in my book.”

“She overreacted.” Sherlock defended himself when heard violin coming from the corridor on their left. They ran towards the sound, slowing down at every door on their way.

“Duck!” John screamed as a blue sphere of energy flew out of the room two doors down the corridor and bounced off the walls, leaving indentations. It whizzed over their heads, leaving a trail of broken plaster behind. John was surprised that the energy didn’t make a sound, except when it was destroying something in its path. Sherlock stood from his crouched position then ran towards the room where violin could be heard.

“Stop!” Sherlock’s shout bounced against the walls of the room, drowning the sound of violin. He could see the glowing spheres flying around the room, going unnoticed by the teacher and the child. The teacher turned towards Sherlock and gave him and angry stare before shushing him. “Stop playing!” He repeated. The music stopped abruptly, the girl turning as well to see Sherlock’s coat swirling around him as he stopped running a few feet away from them. Watson followed sued and to stood next to him.

“It’s her first lesson!” The teacher protested, furious. She was so mad it was making her glasses slip down her nose, giving her an almost comical stern look. “How dare you?” The woman said in a forceful whisper.

“Pardon the intrusion, but we need to take that violin.” John said as he took out his badge.

“What? No. Who are you?” the violin teacher asked, insulted

“We-” John started to take out his badge only to be cut off by his partner.

“We’re with the Disease Outbreak Control Department.” Sherlock said as he flashed his badge. “This violin is infected with a dangerous virus, hand it over now.” The little girl’s eyes widened with fear. She looked from Sherlock to the violin as panic covered her face, her hands letting go of it. “No!” Sherlock shouted as he lunged to catch the instrument before it hit the floor. The girl started crying and went to hug the teacher who was clearly worried about the girl touching her but still couldn’t refuse to comfort her. John gave her an apologetic look as he bent down to retrieve the violin case, not bothering to help Sherlock get off the floor.

“We need to leave now, sorry for the disruption.” John said in his reassuring doctor tone, hoping to ease things.

“What about us? Don’t you need to decontaminate us or something? What is it? SRASM? Polio?” The teacher asked, her worry furrowing her brow.

“Uh? Oh, just uh...” John tried to think of what he could say to reassure them, but most of these viruses did need severe decontamination.

“Wash your hands.”Sherlock said offhandedly before John had had a chance to find a decent answer.

“Wash our hands?” The music teacher repeated, unconvinced.

“Sure.” Sherlock answered before winking to John and walking out of the room with the violin.

“No need to worry, it’s all under control.” John cleared his throat. “Well, goodbye now.” He left the room as fast as he could, leaving the teacher and now empty handed student looking discomfited by what had just happened.

* * *

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” John cursed as he hung his coat roughly on the hook next to the office door.

“And what exactly are you referring to this time?” Sherlock’s coat was flung over the chair in front of the warehouse computer before he moved to put the violin case on the cluttered experiment table.

“So you don’t care that you made that girl cry?” John reproached as he watched Sherlock move a bucket of goo over to the table.

“No. It’s better for her to cry now than to destroy everything and everyone around her, and most likely hurting herself in the process.”

“As simple as that?”

“Yes. I do what needs to be done.” He justified as he took the violin out of its case and dropped it into the goo, holding up his arm to protect his face from the sparks.

“No matter what?” John insisted when the sparks stopped.

“Yes.” The agent took out the violin, wiped off most of the goo and placed it back into its case. As he slid the violin case off the table, he knocked the riding crop they got from Manning to the floor. Sherlock crouched to pick it up, putting it nonchalantly on a pile of open books and made his way out to the balcony and to the stairs that led to the Warehouse.

“What if I tried to stop you?” John asked, following him. He wasn’t going to let him get away this easily. He had had enough of this. He was part of the Warehouse now and he wasn’t going to let his partner treat him like a disposable tool.

“You didn’t.” Sherlock sighed as he turned to walk towards the quarantine zone.

“I know, but what if I had?”

“This is pointless.”

“What would you have done?” John repeated insistently.

“Who cares? It’s a hypothetical scenario. We have the violin, you didn’t stop me, and everyone is safe now.”

“Don’t you care if people get hurt?”

“Will caring about their feelings help save them?” John shook his head in disbelief.

“Nope.” John said lightly, a dangerous smile on his face, the anger evident in his eyes.

“Then I will continue not to make that mistake.”

Electrical sparks are common in the Warehouse, what with all of the artifacts giving off tangential energy. Having them in close proximity to one another, their energy crosses paths, which causes a spark. When the energies are similar, the spark is equal to static electricity. When the energies are opposites, it’s like a fire cracker. But a fire cracker can set off another one, and another one, and so on. This is why the sorting system has been an issue over the years and when a new artifact is introduced to the Warehouse, it has to be closely monitored.

But there are other ways to set off artifacts. Some have unique triggers, but strong emotions seem to be common ground to all.

Especially anger. 

So when Sherlock heard the familiar crackling of electrical energy,that seemed to happen more frequently ever since John had started working as a Warehouse agent, he knew what was threatening to happen and had been for some time now.

“No really, is this the barometer’s side effect? You become the world’s biggest dick after long term use?” John’s tone was calm and controlled but Sherlock wasn’t fooled.

“You knew what you were signing up for.” He knew he should try and do something about John’s anger but Sherlock wasn’t going to just stand there and listen to his partner badmouth him.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to just follow you around like a goddamn trained dog.” John exploded. “I don’t care how you get it in that thick skull of yours, we’re a team now and we need to coordinate.”

“This again.” Sherlock exclaimed, exasperated.

“Yes, this again.” John spat. “Ever since we went to Portugal you’ve been acting like an asshole, disappearing and leaving me to fight alone while you go bag the artifact.”

“I thought you liked combat.”

“That’s not the point!” The former soldier didn’t know what he could possibly say to make his partner understand. “Every time we talk about a plan, well, no, I talk, you look around with a smart look on your face; you just disappear and leave me to figure it out alone.

“I don’t see what the problem is? You took out the guards in France, just like I planned.”

“Guards you could have warned me about _before_ buggering off to get the frame!”

“You didn’t even break a sweat taking them out.” Sherlock pointed out.

“Are you seriously this thick or do you just like making me mad?”

“No, just bored.” Sherlock heard the popping sound of an electrical charge before he felt the impact of John’s punch. One second he was standing, then opened his eyes and he was on the floor with John wrestling him. The tall man tried to protest through John’s strong hold on his neck, his hands grabbing at the soldier’s forearms, ears filled with the sound of crackling electricity, blue flashes growing in intensity all around them.

“Joh-” He choked, cringing when he heard the Warehouse alarm system.

“WARNING. Unusual artifact activity. WARNING. Unusual artifact activity.” Was that Mycroft’s voice? John wondered. “Emergency system activate.”

The next thing John knew, he was completely covered in purple goo. He looked down and saw Sherlock, his eyes closed tightly, reaching up to try and wipe the gunk out of his eyes.

“What the hell was that?” John questioned, spitting goo out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, did you not hear over the sound of you attacking me? You activated the emergency system.”

“Why did the emergency system activate?”

“I’ve told you already,” His partner repeated, shaking his head as he attempted to wipe his face. “Artifacts are created by strong emotions. If you can’t control your temper you can’t be around them.”

“Seriously? Have you heard nothing of what I’ve said all day? This is because of _you_.”

“Oh, don’t be childish.”

“Me! Childish?! Are you fucking shitting me?!” John tried to shake the man, but it was more like slipping him around.

“John, calm down.”

“Oh no, you shut up. You shut up and listen. We ARE a team. I don’t care how you do it, but get it in that thick skull of yours. I am your partner now and I am not planning on taking any more of your bullshit.” John could feel his blood boiling. He hadn’t felt this level of rage in years. Considering everything he had endured ever since their first encounter, he shouldn’t be surprised he’d finally punched his partner. Now, straddling him, his goo soaked shirt twisted in his fists as he held the man on the floor, close enough to feel his breath on his face. “I don’t care what your issue with me is, I want to save the world as much as you do, but if you don’t communicate, you could be putting my life at risk as much as any civilian out there.”

“You know perfectly well this job requires sacrifices.” John was taken aback by how much Sherlock’s tone sounded like a mantra, devoid of emotion.

“Yes. I do. Only there is nobody on this earth that gets to sacrifice my life for me. Is that understood?” John searched his partner’s gaze, making sure he got his point across. “If I have to die to save the world, I am doing it because I chose to do so, not because you can’t be bothered to think of somebody other than yourself.”

“What’s going on?!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice could be heard nearby. The soldier held the agents gaze as he begrudgingly let go of his shirt and sat on the floor beside him, looking up towards the area where her voice was coming from.

“Boys?” Mrs. Hudson came around the corner at the end of the row and saw them both sitting there, covered in purple goo and started laughing uncontrollably. John saw her covering her mouth with her hand, the sound of her laughter spilling through it. He turned to look at Sherlock, who had sat up and still had goo dripping off his nose. John started to laugh as well. With a huff, Sherlock tried to stand up, almost slipping on the goo covered floor several times. He lightly dusted off his suit before taking the violin and heading off to the quarantine zone. His eyes shot daggers at Mrs. Hudson who was still giggling as he walked past her, head held high. Smiling because of his landlady’s infectious laugh, John stood and tried to clean himself, but the goo was rather persistent.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry dear, but in all my years here, I had never seen Sherlock-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, just grabbed her sides and started laughing again, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Its fine, Mrs. Hudson.” John chuckled.

“Oh dear, I haven’t laughed this much in ages.”

“Well, happy we made you smile.”

“Oh, here, take this.” She said as she handed him a purple towel for his face.

“Thanks.” He took it and wiped his face first, surprised at how easily it was coming off. He was about to ask why when Mrs. Hudson spoke first.

“So, what did he do this time?” She asked with a knowing smile. John felt annoyed as well as relieved at her words. She shouldn’t have to ask the question, but he was grateful she understood what he was dealing with.

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but he made a little girl cry.” Mrs. Hudson burst with laughter at John’s words.

“You’re right, it does sound ridiculous.” She said between fits of laughter. “Now, what is this really about?” She insisted after having calmed down. John looked away and sighed loudly, not knowing where to start. “You know what? Why don’t you get cleaned up first? Go to the decontamination chamber, the showers there are made to get the goo off. Leave your clothes in the bin. You should find something clean to wear there. When you’re done, come and help me.” John blinked at her a few times, confused at the sudden change of topic. And what did she need help with?

“Help you with what?”

“Tend to the artifacts. It’ll help take your mind off things.” She smiled knowingly.

“Is that what you were doing when you heard us?”

“Yes, now go clean up and find me when you’re done.”

“I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea I work with artifacts, given what happened.” John argued, looking down at himself covered in goo.

“I don’t care what happened, it’ll help, I swear. Now go on, shoo.” She finished, swatting him away.

* * *

 “Mrs. Hudson?” John called, his head popping around the corner.

“Over here, dear.” Mrs. Hudson called back, her voice close to him. He walked down two more rows when he finally saw her a few feet down, purple gloves contrasting with her yellow apron.

“Sorry it took so long.”

“No worries, still got plenty to do.”

“What’s in the decontamination shower that gets the goo off so easily?”

“Not really sure.” She answered offhandedly, still concentrated on her tasks.  “Here, polish this.” A badge, flannel and polish were thrust into John’s hands. He looked at the blue ribbon circling a Swedish cross and a snake wearing a crown, the word ALFA ROMEO written in gold across the blue ribbon. He let the light reflect into his eyes a moment before taking a flannel and cleaning it.

“Do I want to know what it does?”

“Probably not.” She answered with an unconvincing smile, her hand patting his forearm lightly before she took a knife off the shelf and started sharpening it. John stared at her a moment before asking the obvious.

“Why are you sharpening that knife?”

“For the same reason you’re polishing, because it keeps them happy.” John blinked a few times.

“I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say that we’re doing this to keep them happy.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re not going to make me wash everything here are you?”

“No, silly. Each one is different. Take this chess set, let me see here, it belonged to Alexander Alekhine, no idea who that was, ask Sherlock. So, all we need to do is move a piece every few days.”

“You have to do this to all of them?”

“No, not all of them, but enough to keep me busy. I can take care of most of them, but those in the dark vault I leave for Sherlock.”

“Dark vault?”

“Yes, didn’t Sherlock explain?” John gave her a disbelieving look. “Right, well, the dark vault is where we keep the extremely dangerous artifacts.”

“This place really never ends with the dark and dangerous stuff, does it?” The soldier said, shaking his head.

“That’s why we say a world of endless wonder.”

“Well _now_ it makes sense. When Mycroft told me it the first time sounded like a line out of a bad romance novel.” John said, making Mrs. Hudson start to giggle. “What?”

“I’m just imagining Mycroft reading a romance novel out loud.” John huffed a laugh at the image. “Come on now; I’m fairly certain that Sherlock making a little girl cry isn’t enough to set off the emergency neutralizer.” Mrs. Hudson insisted.  John took a moment to think of how to sum up the past six weeks.

“Has he always been this way?” Maybe if he understood the man’s past he could find a way to connect with him, or at least listen to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Has he always been…?” John wanted to say _an asshole_ but didn’t think it appropriate. “This difficult to work with?”

“Hum… Well, yes. That’s just how he is. All we can do is try and keep up.”

“But that’s, I mean, how…” John had stopped polishing and was gripping the badge tightly in his hand. “How can we work as a team if he’s walking around like it’s a one man show?!”

“Ok I’m going to take that back now, I think it’s polished enough.” She answered delicately, reaching slowly towards the badge.

“Sorry, sorry.” John apologised as he handed it to her. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“John, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you that Sherlock likes having you as a partner.”She said as she put the polished artifact on the shelf.  John snorted a laugh. “I know he doesn’t show it, but I can see it, and so does the Warehouse.”

“That’s nice of you to say but really it-”

“It’s true. I may be an old woman but I’m not blind; he likes you.” John blinked at his landlady, at a loss for words.

“Well he has an odd way of showing it.”

“Who knows what goes on in that silly head of his? But there is probably a very long and logical explanation to it.” She said, smiling at her own joke.

“Whether he likes me or not, that doesn’t excuse how he acts when we’re on a case. At this rate, I might kill him before an artifact does.”

“I know he can be a handful sometimes.” John raised an eyebrow at her choice of words. “Ok, most of the time. But you know what? The Warehouse isn’t the only thing that’s changed since you’re here. In all the years I’ve known Sherlock, I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Like what?” John asked, curious as to what she meant when his Farnsworth started ringing. The soldier sighed and fished it out of his pocket.

“John, come to the office. Now.” Sherlock stated before the screen went blank. John closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose. It was all he could do to stop himself from throwing the Farnsworth as hard as he could.

“You better go dear, it’s probably a ping.” Mrs. Hudson told him encouragingly, but her eyes filled with worry.

“Right. Well, thank you for...” John started to say but had no idea how to finish his sentence.

“My pleasure, dear.” She said before gesturing him to leave.

Ready for battle, John made his way back to the office, walking steadily along the rows back to the stairs. He wasn’t expecting to find a fuming Sherlock in his black leather chair staring at a woman seated in John’s chair. She, on the other hand, was smiling wickedly at the senior agent. They weren’t speaking when John arrived, but as soon as he stepped into the office, the woman’s gaze moved from Sherlock to the soldier, eying him from head to toe. Watson didn’t even notice Mycroft was in the room until he heard his voice.

“John Watson, may I introduce Ms. Irene Adler. Ms. Adler, our newest recruit, Agent John Watson.”


	2. Irene Adler

“John Watson, may I introduce Ms. Irene Adler. Ms. Adler, our newest recruit, Agent Watson.”

Mycroft’s voice was barely registered by agent Watson. His attention being separated between the annoyed look Sherlock was giving their guest, accentuated by his still wet hair, and the magnetic pull said guest was having on him.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Watson told her, his throat unusually tight as he straightened, almost feeling as if he should salute, choosing instead to fall into parade rest.

The woman stood slowly, her every movement graceful, accentuating her fishnet covered legs, the curve of her hips in a fitted white dress. She balanced herself on her heels, giving her posture a commanding air as she tilted her head slightly and offered her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, agent Watson.” Her voice was playful as she shook John’s hand briefly. “I’m glad you’ve finally found someone, Sherlock.” She commented, but she kept her eyes on John’s, amusement shinning bright in her eyes.

“Please refrain from false niceties.” Sherlock retorted, which only made her smile and wink at John before turning to Sherlock and feigning offense.

“False? My dear Sherlock, I do worry about you. How could you think otherwise?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the lying, the stealing, the torture.” The last word was filled with despise that leaked out of Sherlock’s feigned boredom. He wasn’t happy this woman was here, that much was clear. This only made the former soldier want to know why even more.

“It’s not torture when you ask for it.” The woman’s tone got John’s attention, at which Mycroft decided to bring an end to the ongoing bickering.

“Ms. Adler, now that agent Watson is here, would you care to explain the reason of your visit?” 

“Of course. As per our arrangement, I am here to inform you of unusual artifact activity.” John didn’t know if Ms. Adler was mimicking Mycroft out of respect or to make fun of him, seeing how she was already having a go at Sherlock. John figured she was probably used to dealing with the Warehouse.

“Yes, yes, never mind the bureaucracy. More to the point?” Sherlock cut in.

“It has come to my attention that the GPS has been tampered with.” Irene explained patiently. This got an instant reaction from Sherlock; he stood from his chair and silently walked to the door leading to the elevator. Halfway there he pointed to it, his back to the rest of the room.

“Get out.” He said menacingly.

John turned to look at Mycroft, who was looking gravely at his brother before turning to their guest.

“Ms. Adler, you understand the improbability of what you are implying.” Mycroft told her quietly.

“It’s not improbable, it’s impossible.” Sherlock argued, spinning around angrily to speak to Mycroft.

“Sherlock, you know as well as I do that in the Warehouse, as unlikely as it seems, we never rule anything out.” There was the patient older brother tone again.

“You actually believe her?” Sherlock looked at Mycroft who simply looked at Ms. Adler.

“My sources are reliable.” She defended.

“Then how? Tell me how someone could have interacted with the GPS?” Sherlock insisted, agitated. John was surprised to see him get into such a state because of an artifact. What was so bad about it? Was it the downside?

“I don’t know.” The woman said truthfully. It clearly wasn’t what Sherlock wanted to hear. He walked as far away from her as he could and started pacing. Mycroft sighed and sat, inviting the woman to sit in front of him, which she did. He looked at her a moment before questioning her.

“Do you know what has been done to it?”

“No.” 

“Then what use are you?” The agent spat from across the room.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft reprimanded, a clear warning in his tone.

“She’s sending us out on a wild goose chase, can’t you see it?” His brother argued, ignoring the threat.

“It is no reason to be insulting. This is valuable information. We wouldn’t have known about it if she hadn’t informed us.” The Caretaker explained with a patient tone, which only aggravated Sherlock even more.

“Why are you really here? You could have just texted.” Sherlock asked Irene, brushing aside his brother’s valid points.

“You always ignore my texts.” She said with a small pout, batting her eyelashes at Sherlock before her gaze morphed into a prowling animal as she looked from Sherlock to John. “And I wanted to meet your new partner.” Her innocent voice combined with the hungry look made his throat function with difficulty, causing him to swallow as he tried to breathe. He braced himself against the experiment filled as he coughed.

“Stop it with the distractions. Why are you really here?” The agent insisted. She looked at him, her face inscrutable.

“I’m honoring our arrangement, nothing more. And here I was hoping you’d be pleased to see me. It’s been so long.” Breathing normally again, John decided he would very much like to understand what was going on, and who the hell this woman was? If she knows about the Warehouse and artifacts but isn’t an agent or working for Mycroft, then...

“It’s nice you two are catching up, but would someone mind explaining what the GPS is, besides, you know, it being a GPS?” John looked from one brother to the other as he spoke, hoping he would actually get an answer this time. Even better if it was one he was going to understand.

“Not worth explaining, Ms. Adler is leaving now and we’re going to pretend she was never here.” Sherlock mocked, moving to lift her up from the sitting chair before his brother stopped him. John didn’t fight the urge to rub his face with his hand.

“Really Sherlock, when are you going to stop acting like a child?” 

“When it will stop annoying you.” Sherlock retorted. He knew he was being childish and couldn’t care less, especially where his brother was concerned.

“Still waiting for that explanation.” Watson repeated to the office ceiling, wondering when his life became a sci-fi sitcom. Sherlock straightened and turned to speak directly to John, using what he considered to be a patient and pleasant tone.

“Ms. Adler is suggesting that someone has tampered with the GPS artifact.” In reality it sounded like the person he was speaking to was a complete idiot, giving John the irresistible urge to pick up the large book on the experiment table and aim it at his head.

“I gathered as much. Not a  _complete_  idiot. Why do you think it isn’t true?” John asked, trying his best to be the bigger man and not resort to violence, as satisfying as it could be.

“Because you can’t touch it.” Mycroft answered for his brother.

“What, it kills you or something?” 

“No, it disappears.” The caretaker explained patiently.

“You mean it’s not really there? It’s an illusion or a ghost or something?” 

“No, no, it teleports.” John’s eyes widened.

“Teleport? Really?” John asked with excitement. “Where does it take you?”

“No, the GPS teleports, not you.”  Mycroft cleared up.

“Oh.” Watson breathed, trying to hide his disappointment. “Okay, but where does it go?” 

“Anywhere it chooses.” 

“How are we supposed to find it then?”

“Because we can locate it.” Mycroft cut in, looking insistently at his brother until he moved to sit at the computer.  

The monitors lit up as soon as his hands touched the keyboard, except the top right monitor. That one was always alternating the surveillance cameras in the Warehouse. John watched his partner look up the GPS in the Warehouse database. Its file appeared on the bottom left monitor, displaying the basic description and a picture. Curious, he moved closer to the desk; it looked like a 1980s cell phone without the battery pack. A bulky white and gray plastic  _thing_  that seemed like it came right out of the original star wars trilogy. A calculator screen framed in gray with a white keypad and a matching antenna. John’s head turned towards his partner, understanding why Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help but laugh. This thing was so harmless, it’s was ridiculous that it had driven Sherlock mad.

He looked up again and his attention was caught by the Warehouse GPS screen that was seemingly trying to locate the GPS artifact.

“Wait, I thought we couldn’t make an artifact locator.” John questioned.

“You can’t make one to locate all the artifacts, but it is possible to track them individually.” The fact that Mycroft was answering instead of Sherlock was starting to make John uncomfortable. Which was odd to him, preferring Sherlock’s dry and sarcastic tone to his brother's calm yet snotty one.

“Especially if that artifact  _wants_  to be found.” Irene added with a playful smile.

“What do you mean?” John inquired.

“It gives off a signal to make it easier to locate.” Mycroft explained, making John look at his partner, somewhat concerned, but he couldn't see his face.

“Well, it  _is_  a GPS.” The woman added.

“So you can find it, but you can’t catch it.” The new agent summed up. “So someone doing something to it...”

“Improbable, but not impossible.” Mycroft concluded.

“Really, Mycroft.” Sherlock protested. John ignored his relief when he heard the deep voice.

“ _Never_  rule anything out.” His brother repeated patiently.

“But what’s dangerous about it?” John asked, his eyes back on the picture on the screen.

“That’s the beauty of it; nothing.” She said with a dazzling smile, which John appreciated, but it still didn’t explain anything.

“But doesn't it have a down side?” He insisted, his mind struggling to understand.

“Not that we know of.” Mycroft said, his tone serious, but John could see his reflection in the screen; his worried side glances towards his brother.

But it still didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything to understand!” Sherlock spat, spinning in his chair and standing up suddenly. It made the chair fall to the side, the back hitting the side of the desk, making a loud crashing noise. John was taken aback by his partner’s sudden outburst, staring at him as they listened to the soft spinning of the chair’s wheels in the silent room. Mycroft had a look on his face that was probably the same one he had used when they were kids and Sherlock was having a fit. “It is the most annoying artifact because it is completely useless. It isn’t harmful, it isn’t helpful either. It’s just a hyper aware electronic device that likes being chased.” John watched his angry partner and fought the smile that wanted to spread across his face, pleased to see him out of his wit in front of what he thought was a rather amusing artifact.

“Who doesn’t like to be chased?” Irene commented to John, smoothing down her skirt on her thighs with a sly smile.

“We still need to investigate.” Mycroft reminded them. Sherlock turned to his brother.

“If someone did happen to find a way to do something to the GPS, they knew that once the Warehouse learned about it, we’d investigate.” This made Mycroft’s left eyebrow lift. He narrowed his eyes at his younger brother who answered by smoothing down his suit jacket and picking up his chair to sit back down at the computer. The Caretaker turned and looked at their guest gravely.

“Where did you get this information?”

“Mr. Holmes, you know my policy; I never kiss and tell.” Irene kept her eyes on the Caretaker, but John saw the little circles she was drawing on her thigh.

“It’s a trap.” Sherlock commented offhandedly.

“It most likely is, but we still need to investigate.” At his older brother’s words, Sherlock turned slowly to him with a deadly stare.

“No. No, I am not going after it again.” John was astonished by how his partner could sound like a six year old boy. As much as he didn’t preferred Mycroft’s absence, it was nice to get a break from being the main target when Sherlock got into a mood.

“Again?” John piped up. They hadn't mentioned that part, he told himself.

“Sherlock, you will investigate, and that is final.” John recognised the commanding officer's tone. They stared at each other for a moment before Sherlock sniffed loudly and turned to the computer, his hands flying across the keyboard as he tuned out the room. Mycroft breathed through his nose and turned to smile tightly at their guest. “Ms. Adler, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. Please give us as much information as you can and during the time of the investigation, I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave the country.”

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Holmes.” She answered with a pleasing smile. The Caretaker then turned to John and nodded.

“Agent Watson.” John returned the nod. “Agent Holmes.” Mycroft said tightly before turning and walking out the office door.

John was surprised to see the man walk out instead of disappearing. Sherlock simply mimicked his brother silently.  Watson's mind went through the details he had learned, seeing how this could be a trap. He didn’t notice the woman stand and walk around the office, slowly making her way towards him on the by the experiment table.

“How do you like being and agent so far?” Her sultry voice filtered through John’s thoughts, morphing them into a territory that had not been tapped into for a long while.

“Fine. It-it’s fine.” John struggled, cursing at himself. He was feeling like a 13 year old boy, nervous, getting a hard-on at anything remotely sexy. But he wasn’t accustomed to feeling like pray. There was something about this woman that screamed dominance and it was tapping into uncharted territory.

“You work in a fortress of endless wonder and all you can think of to describe it is  _nice_?” Sherlock criticised, his baritone voice hitting a nerve in John. He tightened his hands into fists and placed them onto the table, knuckles facing down. He leaned on them heavily, his head hanging low as he spoke.

“I should have known that the best way to get you to stop moping is to say something you can criticise.” 

“You’re vocabulary is pitiful. I blame those silly murder novels you keep reading. They’re rotting your mind. And how can you not guess the plot?”

“Well if you keep spoiling the story for me every time I won’t be reading much now, will I?”  John said with a bit more force, staring at the table, as if it would somehow help him stay calm.

“See, I’m doing you a favor.” John could hear the smile in his partner’s voice and it made his blood pump.

“I swear to...” John took one step his partner and felt a small hand on his arm.

“So nice to see the two of you getting along.” Irene told him, smiling.

“Unless you have anything useful to say, I fail to see why you’re still here.” Sherlock told her, his tone like acid. But John could see how it amused her. It was nice having someone who understood how to deal with Sherlock. Not that John couldn’t handle him, but it was nice to get a break.

“Depending on where it is, I might have something to useful.” She answered Sherlock but kept her eyes on John, winking at him as her hand squeezed his bicep lightly.

“Damn rubbish computer!” Sherlock swore loudly, making John stumble back, breaking the contact between them and bumping into the table behind him and sitting heavily on it. “I keep asking for maintenance but it always gets pushed back. If we didn’t have so much security clearance required it would be fixed already. Locating the artifact is going to take a moment.” The agent finished explaining as he rustled around his desk, seemingly looking for something that could help speed things up.

“Don’t worry.” Irene reassured. “I’m sure we can find something to entertain ourselves while we’re waiting.” She finished, standing far enough away for him to admire her but not close enough to touch, an inviting look in her eye. John really had no idea if sleeping with this woman was a good idea, but he was fairly certain it would be greatly irritating to his partner, so he was genuinely entertaining the idea. He would get a nice, possibly great night with a beautiful woman and piss off his arsehole of a partner. Before John got a chance to act, said arsehole cock blocked him, spinning in his chair to interrogate Irene.

“Why are you really here?”

Irene took her time to turn and look at Sherlock, her legs stretching as she twisted her body, showing off the curve of her back to John. She smiled and spoke patiently, mimicking the undermining tone John often heard.

“To honor our agreement; I inform you about any artifact activity I-”

“Stop hiding behind bureaucracy. As much as I hate the prospect of it, I’m aware there is a possibility that the GPS can be tampered with. But there was no need for you to inform us in person. You could have texted, called, or gone directly to Mycroft. So why make the trip at all? I’d hardly believe you’re looking for a new client; you know I’m not interested and John isn’t in your price range. If you’re seeking information, he doesn’t know anything you don’t already know. And even if he did, I would be even more surprised if he talked, since his background as a soldier gave him a high level of loyalty as well as training in interrogation techniques, however  _subtle_  they may be. Unless you use an artifact on him, but none of the artifacts on your authorised list would get any information out of him. So maybe you’re looking to do some shopping by coming here. Plausible, since this place is like a candy store to you. But how could you take out an artifact without us knowing about it. No, it most likely has to do with the GPS; not directly, but somehow linked. The simplest way to figure it out is if you give me your source. But you made sure to have a clause in your contract stating you were under no obligation to disclaim your sources because it would compromise you’re clients and threaten your company’s reputation. That being said, Ms. Adler, tell me:  _why_  are you here?” Sherlock’s eyes were boring holes into the woman. She simply smiled at the agent, her eyes shining bright. John could feel his heart racing. He didn’t know what it was about this man when he did whatever the hell he just did. But he couldn’t take his eyes off his partner, his eyes fierce, sharp as he waited for an answer.

“Is that what get’s you off?” Irene’s sultry tone broke the silence. Stunned, John turned to look at her. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that wasn’t it, and from what he could tell, Sherlock was also taken off guard.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Showing off, is that what get’s you off? What am I saying, of course it does. But something’s different.” She paused, her eyes flicking from Sherlock to John.  “Is it John?”

John blinked. He must have heard that wrong.

“Get out.” Was all Sherlock said, his voice cold, tossing her away like an old rag. He turned back to the computer, not noticing John’s worried frown. He had not seen his partner back out of an argument ever since he had met him.

“Is it the new partner effect?” She continued, speaking to Sherlock but looking at John, as if she were evaluating him. “Can’t be, it’s been over a month, you should have gotten bored already, so it must be him.” She slowly closed the gap between them. John’s hands held the side of the table as her perfume filled his nose. “Either way, I can understand the appeal. It’s quite the catch you have here.” Her eyes travelled up and down the length of him. She stood between his legs, her thighs close to his but not quite touching. “A soldier and a doctor, that’s quite an interesting mix. I can only imagine what an evening with you could be like.”

“I- I um...” John wanted to slap himself. He had trouble understanding what the hell was wrong with him. Had it really been that long since his last...  _evening_? But that didn’t explain how he felt so... out of control?

“How do you like working with Sherlock? We all know he can be a right prick. Drive you up the wall.” Her voice was lower, enticing, her words so promising as they sneaked into his ears. Her body was slowly almost touching his as she bent down to whisper into his ear. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

“It’s- It’s not...” John tried to explain but words were fleeting him, blood rushing away from his head.

“Shh, don’t worry about it. If you want, I could help you.” She offered, leaning back to look him in the eye, her breath brushing his cheek lightly. John’s brain supplied him with different ways she could help him.

“Help me with what?” his whisper came out as a grumble. He swallowed with difficulty, making her smile grow.

“Help you...” She started to say, leaning in, the corner of her lips grazing his as she stroked her cheek against his slowly, lightly, until her mouth touched his ear. “relieve the tension.” She finished saying, her lower lip brushing against his earlobe. John’s eyes had closed, trying to control his breathing. She pulled back and held his gaze. John bit the inside of his cheek, Sherlock’s mention of interrogation techniques coming to mind. He didn’t seem to be able to move, frozen in place by her stare.

It seemed Sherlock’s reaction was the ideal solution to John’s problem.

“Stop it.” The words spat out of his mouth like poison. John eyes shot open, the familiar feeling of getting caught with a girl in his early years coming back to mind. Irene smiled slyly at John as she leaned back and away from him.

“I’m just being friendly.” She said innocently, her eyes travelling from Sherlock to the experiment covered table.

“Your definition of friendly diverges greatly from the masses.” He retorted, his words filled with hatred.

“That’s what makes it fun. You remember fun, don’t you?” She said as her eyes caught something on the table. “Hum, what’s this? I guess you do remember fun.” She lifted the riding crop Manning had left behind. Sherlock scoffed and stood, his chin up, hiding his discomfort. He stretched out his hand, waiting for her to hand it to him.

“It’s not what you think. Give it to me.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think it is. Why bother lying? You know I can tell. What does it do?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow pointedly, smiling at John even more. Sherlock lost his patience and moved to grab the artifact but Irene tightened her grip and immobilised Sherlock instantly. Her eyes widened as she grasped the crop’s powers.

John could see her pupils dilating, her lips parting lightly as a breath escaped her. The soldier, as lustful as he was at the moment, figured she was taken over by the sensation of power the crop gives over the victim. But something told him she was imagining its use in a different setting. John felt himself react to not only the vision of this woman showing signs of arousal, but to what his own imagination was providing.

John then saw the situation from a bird eye view and knew he should be trying to figure out how to get the crop out of Irene’s hands. It’s what any good agent or soldier would do. This woman is a guest and has no place playing with artifacts.

But seeing Sherlock frozen mid step, an irritated look on his face; the only thing John wanted to do was take a picture.

The surprised expression changed to a devilish smile as her hands twisted the leather, making Sherlock move from his outstretched position to standing straight, his hands in front of him as if bound together at the wrists, confirming John’s suspicion about her intentions.

The sight of Irene twisting the black leather, her presence filling the air as she eyed the struggling agent, the anger in his partner’s eyes as he fought his invisible bindings; John could feel the heavy sensation in the pit of his stomach. If there were any chances of him intervening, they were gone; he was too stunned by the sight to move. 

“My dear Sherlock, it would be a shame to lock this up.” Her tone was pleasant but dangerous, punctuated by the sound of her heels as she slowly walked towards the agent.

“Stop it.” Sherlock didn’t like losing control of his movements, especially if she was at the controlling end.

“You were studying it. What better way to learn then to experience it first hand?” She said as she tightened her grip again, bringing Sherlock to his knees. As much as John was curious to see where this could go, he shook his head; he couldn’t let this go on. He had already waited too long and was probably going to regret it.

“I already have!” Sherlock shouted, too angry to see his partner start to move behind his assailant.

The only way he could tackle her without hitting Sherlock or furniture was from the front. She saw him coming and instinctively tried to stop him with the crop, freeing Sherlock. She couldn’t know its control was limited to one person. While she watched John’s frozen figure fall to the floor, Sherlock lunged at her, knocking the crop out of her hands. John grabbed it while Sherlock immobilised her, his voice filled with threat.

“I would be careful if I were you. You are free as a courtesy. Do you want them to learn you used a non-approved artifact on a Warehouse agent?”

“You’re no fun.” Her tone was playful as she squirmed under him. He moved quickly, trapping her wrists in one hand, the other circling her neck, making her smile falter before he pinned her down with his hips.

“Behave or I’ll bronze you.” His deep voice threatened.

“You don’t have the clearance.” She defended, her voice feeble through his hold on her throat.

“Do you really think that could stop me from doing it anyway?” John wasn’t sure if he should separate them or leave them alone. He figured they must have some sort of history together. That would explain Sherlock’s present disdain of her. So, he is human, John told himself. He was wondering if he would be able to separate them without using the crop when the computer caught his attention.

“I have no idea what bronzing means, I’m guessing it’s bad, but the computer found something.” Sherlock took one last look at her before releasing his hold and standing to go see. John helped Irene get off the floor.

“Russia.” Sherlock stated. “Do you have anything to say?”

“Where in Russia?” She insisted, moving towards the computer but keeping her distance.

“Moscow.” He specified.

“Where?” She repeated impatiently. Sherlock tapped the keyboard and it zoomed in again.

“South west, just outside the city.” He paused. “Isn’t that-?”

“Not good, that’s what that is.” Irene stated.

“What is not good, exactly?” John asked, trying his best to follow.

“New money.” Sherlock said.

“New and eager to invest.” Irene added.

“How is it a problem?”

“Money is power. An artifact close to power is never a good mix.” Sherlock explained to his partner.

“Does this mean we’re going to Moscow? Get tickets at a decent hour this time, will you?”

“Apparently not. It moved. Damn computer! Why can’t you follow it!?” Sherlock slammed his hand against the desk.

“So is that it? All we get is a “not good”?” John asked Irene, partly looking for a reason to speak to her before Sherlock kicks her out, partly because his partner was right; something  _was_  off.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” She apologised, batting her eyelashes at the former soldier.

“Help?” Sherlock’s tone was disbelieving. “You call this help? You come here and send us into what is obviously a trap without so much as batting an eyelash, threaten me with an artifact you are not authorised to use, not to mention playing around with John’s blood pressure. You’re trying to distract us from whatever it is you’re really here to do before you leave. Really, next time, text me, I insist. I’d rather answer than go through this again. Now get out.” The agent concluded, his tone final as he turned back towards the screens.

“I missed you too.” Irene answered fondly, but John couldn’t believe what Sherlock had just said.

“Sherlock.” John reprimanded in a hushed tone.

“It’s in London.” Sherlock cut in, stopping John’s trail of thought. “We locate it and it suddenly moves within a 100 kilometers of us?” Sherlock added as he slowly turned towards Irene, his arms crossed over his chest. “This is clearly a trap.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.” John offered feebly, even though his gut was screaming trap.

“The universe is rarely so lazy.” Sherlock countered. He took one last look at Irene, his face looking as if he smelled something foul, before he turned back to the computer to continue working. The woman turned to the new agent and offered her hand.

“It was nice to meet you, John. Until next time.”

“Ms. Adler-”

“Please, call me Irene.”

“Irene.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about him. We, um, our last case didn’t exactly... go, as planned... please don’t leave because he’s being... well, himself.”

“That’s sweet of you, but don’t worry, it isn’t my first time dealing with that beautiful creature. I know he likes me, he just has his own way of showing it.” She leaned in to whisper into John’s ear, ignoring Sherlock’s scoff. Her cheek against his, her eyes on his partner who was feigning to ignore them, but she could tell his attention was on them. “Has anyone ever told you you’re sexy when you’re angry?” She pulled back enough to kiss his cheek lightly, smiling as she saw the sulking agent flinch at the noise. “Farewell.” She spoke before walking out of the office.

The sound of the door closing behind seemed to snap John out of the spell she had cast on him. He took one look at his partner and decided it would probably be best if he wasn’t around him at the moment.

“I’m going to the flat.” He told the back of Sherlock’s head. He waited 15 seconds before giving up and grabbing his coat.

“Where are you going?” The deep voice questioned as he heard the familiar creek of the hard wood floor a few feet away from the steel door.

“I just told you, I’m going to the flat.” John stopped walking and waited.

“No, we’re going to get the GPS.”

“Tomorrow.” John countered, moving again.

“Now.”

“Tomorrow.” He repeated, his hand on the handle.

“We know where it is, we have to go now.” The sound of the computer chair squeaking made John turn.

“We don’t have to, it can wait until tomorrow. And for someone who doesn’t want to go after this artifact, you seem pretty eager to get it. And what if it changes places again before we get there?” John argued snidely.

“We break in during the night and bring it back before it opens and no one will know about it.”

“No. It’s been a long day; we know it’ll still be there in the morning. And I’m not breaking into any place without it being absolutely necessary; you aren’t using the same trick on me twice.”

“That’s what you think.” Sherlock answered smugly, more to himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He took a step forward, eyes narrowed at his partner.

“Hum?” Sherlock said innocently. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Have you been using the barometer again? No, I’ll deal with that another time. But right now, we are not going to break into anywhere. I am heading back to the flat to read and I swear, if you either ruin the story for me or wake me up by screaming tomorrow...” John started to threaten but he could see Sherlock had simply tuned him out. Without a word, he grabbed his coat and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Sherlock turned and listened to the low hum of the computer as he watched the closed door a moment before slowly turning his attention back to the work, actively ignoring the knot in his chest and the woman’s taunting words repeating in his head.

 


	3. Happy?

John hung his coat next to the sitting room door.He still thought it was weird that the office looked like their flat. Or their flat looked like the office. On days like this, he’d like to be able to take his mind off work when he got home. And when your flat is an exact replica of your office... Well, at least here he was alone.

Sighing loudly, he sat in his chair to read a hardboiled crime novel by his favorite author, Anthony Bishop. He’d read it before, but it didn’t matter. It was either that or the whiskey bottle under the sink. He longed for the drink, but a hangover would just make it harder to deal with Sherlock, especially if they were about to try and catch an uncatchable artifact for the second time.

So 1940s detective story it was. He’d always loved the genre, remembering when he used to read them well into the night as a young teenager. A part of him had always wanted to know what it was really like living in the US in that era. He was doing his best to put aside the turmoil of his day and concentrate on the words on the page, when he heard Mrs. Hudson’s door open and her kitten heels walk up to the staircase.

“John? Are you up there?”

“Yes, hello Mrs. Hudson.” He answered with a resigned tone.

“Is Sherlock with you?” She asked over the sound of her footsteps.

“No, he’s still at the Warehouse.” John explained as he put his novel aside. He looked up when Mrs. Hudson walked in and smiled at him before tusking at the state of the room, wiping the seat of Sherlock’s chair before sitting.

“So, how did it go?” She asked expectantly, her eyes bright and hopeful.

“Hum?”John wasn’t sure what she was referring to, because he was fairly certain she wasn’t asking about Irene Adler whispering naughty things in his ear.

“Did you and Sherlock sort things out?”

He blinked at her a few times as he remembered what she was referring to.

“Oh, that.” He started, his mind frustratingly not providing proper vocabulary to explain the evening’s events. “Well, no, we didn’t, uh, get a chance to, um,” He wanted to say ‘work things out’ but he knew the chances of that happening in a single conversation were bleak. “talk, because we had a visitor.”

“Really?” Her eyes grew considerably, her surprise evident. “That’s odd. Don’t get many visitors at the Warehouse. Who was it?”

“Irene Adler.” Mrs. Hudson’s lips tightened at the name. “Do you know her?” John added.

Her hands worried the hem of her skirt as she spoke. “I’ve never met her, but I know _of_ her.”

John looked at her expectantly, hoping to learn more.

“Something about a contract that allows her to keep artifacts. Sherlock ranted about it for days, thought I’d never hear the end of it.”

John sat back in his chair, his hand moving up to worry his lips with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, well, brace yourself for more. What is she doing with the artifacts?”

“No idea.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “She isn’t helping on a case, is she?”

“No!” John’s hands shot up in emphasis. “No. God, no.” The image of Sherlock’s eyes filled with hatred as he looked down and the woman came to mind. “I don’t think he would allow it.” He chuckled, to Mrs. Hudson’s relief. “No, she came about an artifact.” And John just so happened to leave out the part where Irene was flirting with him.

“Oh. What artifact?”

“Yes, a GPS. Apparently it-” John was about to explain further when Mrs. Hudson’s face contorted with what John guessed as pain, or distress. He wasn’t sure because he had never seen that look on her face. He reached for her arm, worried, when she exploded with laughter. “What-?” John furrowed his brow, wondering what could possibly be so funny. “Did I miss something?”

Mrs. Hudson was covering her mouth with her hand, trying to hold in the laughter, but every time she looked at John’s puzzled face she doubled over again. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to be able to speak, carefully wiping the tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry dear, It’s just- Oh dear, getting gooed, that woman and that artifact in the same day, he must, he must be absolutely _livid_.” She giggled again and wiped her eyes. “It’s so sad, I shouldn’t even be laughing, but I can’t help it.” She took one look at John, who was smiling as well, what with Mrs. Hudson’s infectious laugh.

“I’m sensing a story.” John told her before he stood to go get her a glass of water.

“He tried to catch it once, that GPS.” She said between sips.

“Really?” John tried not to sound as intrigued as he was. Not that he was investigating him or anything, but his partner, as difficult as he was to work with, was a bit of an enigma to John. And he certainly wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity to hear a story about Sherlock’s past, especially if it was embarrassing.

“Yes, he was looking into it with his previous partner, until...” Her eyes looked past John, her hand unconsciously making its way to her necklace. John waited patiently for her to continue. He would never admit it, but he really was curious as to what happened to Sherlock’s old teammates. It was only fair, since he knew what had happened to John’s old team. “Well, let’s just say that case lasted long enough that he chased it alone for a long time. Come to think of it, he hasn’t had a partner since... the last one, and that was... my, it was 5 years ago. Hum, that’s curious...”

“What is?”

John's voice brought her attention back to him. “Hum? Oh, nothing dear. It’s the longest I’ve seen him work on the same artifact. Mycroft had to intervene because he wasn’t going after pings anymore. He was horrible to be around. He kept screaming at anyone who dared interrupt him. He never left the office, just slept on the couch. And he really shouldn’t, that couch has awful back support. That’s why there’s a bedroom at the Warehouse now.” Her sad eyes looked around the flat. “And why the flat looks like the office.” She sighed.

“What?” John exclaimed, confused. “The flat hadn’t always looked like this?”

“Heaven’s no. You know it adapts to its inhabitants."

"Yes, but I just thought it still sort of looked like the office."

"My, no, before that artifact, before... It used to be lovely in here.” She summed, her eyes looking around the room. “Anyway, he was getting so out of hand that Mycroft insisted I go to my sister’s. It took the better part of three weeks until I could come back. And when I came up to see him, the flat had turned into the office.”

John looked out the window, letting himself process the story. It seemed like Sherlock had almost gone insane because of an artifact. But didn’t he say it didn’t have any side effects? Could it have been caused by what had happened to his partner? She did say they had started chasing it as a team and then... then what?

“Then again” Mrs. Hudson continued in a resigned tone, halting John’s train of thought. ”It’s not really surprising; it’s always been all about The Work with him.”

“And he just stopped chasing it? Like that? He doesn’t seem like the type to let things go so easily.”

“He isn’t, that’s why I was surprised when Mycroft told me so. I don’t know what he said to his brother, but he stopped. The last time Sherlock spoke about the GPS was to say that there was no reason to chase it because it was inoffensive and therefore went against the fundaments of the Warehouse; to retrieve artifacts that are a nuisance or dangerous when free in society. It has never been spoken about since.”

John frowned. “Isn’t that a load of bullshit?”

“Well, he is right.” She argued with a shrug. “Artifacts are created from special emotional bonds with humans; it’s only natural to let them live with them. The Warehouse is for when things go wrong.”

“Then why did he go after the GPS in the first place?”

“Who knows what goes on in that silly head of his?” Mrs. Hudson answered with a smile.

“And what happened to his partner?” John asked nervously. It was obvious by now that she wasn’t going to fill in the blanks of the story without asking directly. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her brow furrowed with worry.

“I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t think it’s mine to tell.” She said apologetically.

John shook his head. “It’s fine, sorry I asked.”

“It’s ok.” She waved her hand as if to erase the last question. “And now, 5 years later, he has to go after it again.” She concluded, shaking her head. “It’s like Murphy’s law. Or is it karma?”

 It suddenly dawned on John that no matter how awful his partner had been ever since they started working together, based on what Mrs. Hudson was telling him, it was nothing compared to what was to come.

“Oh god, and here I thought he couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

“I’m sorry, dear. But, you know, artifacts are... well, you know how they are. Maybe Sherlock couldn’t catch it because he was alone. With you there, you never know...” She said with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, I doubt that, but I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“Don’t forget, John, the Warehouse chose you, and there’s a reason for that.”

“Let me guess, it’s in the manual?” He answered cynically, but Mrs. Hudson was unfazed.

“Nobody can do what you boys do alone.”

“Well he’s been doing it alone for years.” John leaned back in his chair, repeating the irritating words his partner kept telling him.

“That doesn’t mean it was easy, or that he didn’t feel lonely.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

She leaned forward in her chair and held his gaze. “Because I want you to understand that even though he’s hard to work with, I haven’t seen Sherlock this happy in years. Now stop second guessing yourself and do what you do best. I know you two will get that artifact.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “But just in case, I’m going to call my sister tomorrow. I’ll leave you to your book. Sleep well, dear.” She said, squeezing his hand lightly before heading out.

John sat there, looking at the empty room long after he had heard Mrs. Hudson’s door close behind her. He let his brain try to wrap itself around what he had just heard.

Happy?

_This_ was Sherlock happy?

He let his head fall into his hands and he leaned his elbows onto his knees. He felt like a mess. There was just too much information going around and he was exhausted. His eyes peaked through his sprawled fingers at the clock. He wasn’t going to sort anything out tonight. Might as well get as much sleep he could, what with an uncatchable artifact to catch tomorrow.  He grabbed his book and headed upstairs, silently hoping that sleep wouldn’t evade him tonight.

* * *

 

“ _Is_ _it John? It’s been almost 2 months now and you aren’t bored, so it must be him_.”

Irene whispered in John’s ear. He watched as the anger faded away from Sherlock’s face as he looked from Irene to John. The office faded out from around them. All John could see was his face as he sat in the desk chair a few feet away from him. The emotion in his eyes moving from anger to fear in the blink of an eye, disappearing as if it were never there. But John saw something else. Hope. He couldn’t turn away; what else was there? What else could he learn in those brief moments when Sherlock’s guard was down?

“John.”

The word made John eyes close, making him stop trying to understand and just listen to the sound of his name as it rolled of Sherlock’s tongue.

“John?”

Why did he sound worried? And why did his voice sound so enticing no matter what tone he was using? John rolled onto his back and stretched languidly, seeking out the voice, longing to hear his name once more.

“John!”

The soldier sat up in his bed, head spinning as he blinked at the daylight filtering through his curtains. More out of habit than out of actual threat, he reached for the Tesla under his pillow and aimed it at the door as he slowly became aware he was dreaming.

“I swear to god, I will kill him in my sleep one day.” The soldier said to his empty room, the remains of his dream slowly drifting away, leaving him confused. He listened to Sherlock’s footsteps on the stairs. When he was on the landing, John spoke again. “What did I tell you about waking me up by screaming when there is no immediate danger?”

“I told you to be ready by eight o’clock. It’s eight o’clock.” Sherlock’s voice echoed against the staircase walls as he pushed the bedroom door open.

“No, you didn’t.” John argued, lowering the Tesla but keeping a firm grasp on it.

“Yes, I did.”

They stared at each other a moment before John spoke.

“When?” He asked drily.

“Yesterday.” The new agent pinched the bridge of his nose.

“When?” John repeated.

“Last night, in the sitting room.”

“Nope.”

“Yes. I came back, laid on the couch and told you to be ready by eight o’clock.” John blinked at him a few times.

“You do realise I wasn’t even in the room.”

“Well it’s not my fault if you don’t listen when I give you instructions. Now get dressed, we need to go.” Sherlock concluded before turning and walking out of the room, leaving behind a puzzled John.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” John swore loudly enough to be heard.

“Hurry up; we have an artifact to catch.” Sherlock added, the sound of his voice fading. John laid back down, tired, confused and absolutely not ready to face this day when he thought of something and sat up again.

“Wait! Is that what you do when we’re on a case? You change the plan and tell me without bothering to check if I’m there to listen?” He shouted.

“Hurry up, John!” Was all he heard back.

John lied back down, covered his face with his pillow and screamed.

Sitting up and pushing the pillow off his face, he struggled to control his breathing. His hands were balled into fists on either side of him.

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked the empty room.

He wasn’t normally this... angry. He’d had shitty partners in the past, all sorts, and he’d always dealt with it without a hitch.

So why was he over reacting with Sherlock?

His dream came to mind, making John’s eyes close as Irene’s playful tone echoed in his head.

“ _Is it John?_ ”

He couldn’t stay in his bed after that.

Case. They have a case, John repeated to himself as he dressed himself. Maybe he was curious to know what exactly she was implying. But he stopped himself; focusing on the fact that she’s manipulative and sending them into a trap. It’s a mind game.

Well it won’t work. Or rather, her tactic won’t work. Still doesn’t mean they were going to succeed.

Irene or no Irene, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s been six weeks and John still didn’t feel like they were a team.

He’d never admit it, but some part of him felt like they sounded like an old married couple, always bickering. Well, it used to be bickering. Yesterday they had crossed the line.

No, Sherlock pushed too hard and made him cross that line.

But John knew it still didn’t make it ok for him to over react that way.

Sometimes it really seemed like Sherlock was testing him: pushing his boundaries, figuring out where his buttons were, how to get him all riled up...

“ _Has anyone ever told you you’re sexy when you’re angry_? _”_

John froze. No. It... She wasn’t... He...

“Nope. Not happening. I will not pursue that line of thought.” John said aloud, diverting his eyes from the mirror as his brain went through every argument he had ever had with Sherlock. He didn’t want to see the blush spread across his neck and face.

Well. He had to hand it to her. She was good.

Clearly, that’s all it was. She was simply planting ideas in his head.

Smoothing down his shirt, John focused on his training, pushing aside his feelings and focusing on the case. That he knew how to do. Whatever was going on between them couldn’t affect their work; lives depended on it.

* * *

 

“How on earth did you survive in the field if it takes you ages to get ready?” Sherlock asked without looking up from his computer when John walked into the kitchen, heading for the kettle.

“You underestimate the motivational skills of live fire.” He joked over the sound of running water, resorting to humour to cover up his awkwardness. He had barely walked into the kitchen that Sherlock was already trying to piss him off.

Calm down John, he told himself, he’s just trying to get things going so we can get this GPS thing over with.

“Yes, well, as much as I would love to make you understand the urgency of a situation by shooting holes in the wall, I’d rather not have to deal with a disgruntled Mrs. Hudson. Again.”

 “Really? Of all the things you’ve encountered over the years, its Mrs. Hudson you fear?” John teased.

“Don’t underestimate Mrs. Hudson’s nagging.”

John huffed a laugh and looked for a clean cup. At least his attempt at humour seemed to temporarily diffuse the ticking time bomb. “Well, as long as you know that the day you decide to fire live rounds for the sole purpose of getting me to move faster, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.” The only reaction John got was a sort of distracted humming noise from Sherlock as his fingers tapped quickly at his computer.

That’s odd. Sherlock would normally have a retort to that. He loved having the last word. John changed the subject to the case. “So, where are we going?”

“Covent Garden’s Market.” Sherlock looked up as he spoke.

John smiled a bit before taking a sip of his tea. He used to go there as a kid and loved watching the street performers. But the idea of chasing an artifact in such a public place... At least it wasn’t a dangerous artifact. Unless...

Unless it’s been tampered with.

“Yes, John. That’s why I wanted to go during the night.” Sherlock stated as he saw the realisation dawn on John’s face.

“Nothing indicates its dangerous now.” John argued, more to reassure himself than to convince his partner.

“But you don’t deny it’s a possibility.”

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“I tried,” Sherlock stated “but you were all huffed up from Irene’s flattery.” He added flatly.

“I...” John started to say, when his brain made him realise they were in the same set up as his dream; Sherlock in the chair and John standing a few feet away. His eyes unconsciously flicked from Sherlock’s knees to his eyes before widening with panic. He turned away, cleared his throat and put down his cup. “Let’s go.” He said before heading for his jacket.

Sherlock looked at him and frowned. “What? No nagging to eat breakfast before we go?”

“I’ll get something there.” John answered evasively before walking out of the flat, missing his partner’s perplexed look.

* * *

 

Gratefully, they didn’t speak during the cab ride. Sherlock was on his Farnsworth and John focused on the passing streets.

He smiled as the cab rolled into Covent Garden. As much as the place had changed over the years and had become filled with modern boutiques and cafes, the place still kept its old London feel. The streets that had led them to the market were filled with people, even though it was threatening to rain at any moment.

“We’re close enough; we can walk the rest of the way.” Sherlock told the driver, his voice steady, but John could see the stiffness in his movements as he watched him pay and step out. Mrs. Hudson’s words came to mind. John suddenly wished he had had time to look at the artifact file. When something as inoffensive makes a rather emotionless man react so violently, there’s bound to be something about it that’s special or something that John should probably know about and Sherlock wasn't telling him.

They moved as quickly as they could through the crowds, crossed King’s street and walked down to the Market entrance.

“I hope you know where it is in this place. You know, needle in haystack and all.” John commented as they walked through tight rows between merchants selling anything from chocolate to cold cuts.

“Not precisely, but enough to narrow it down.”

“To where?”

“This way.” His partner directed them to one of the large market areas. They stayed a few feet away looking in. Every space was crammed with small booths filled with, well, anything, giving it an almost claustrophobic feel. Scarves, coins, stamps, pinned insects, jewellery, paintings, handmade books, clothes, there was even a dry cleaning and shoe repair stand.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” John commented when it dawned on him that this is the area Sherlock had narrowed it down to.

“You go that way, I’ll cover this area. Call me if you find it.” The senior agent instructed as he closed his Farnsworth and started walking in the opposite direction when John grabbed his arm.

“And you call _me_ if you find it or if you change the plan.” he insisted, ignoring the eye roll he received as an answer. “I am not kidding Sherlock.” Sherlock gave him an unconvinced look, but John wasn’t letting go. “Say it.”

“I will call you.” The agent promised, attempting to free his arm.

“Nope. Say the whole thing.” He insisted. Sherlock eyes narrowed. John fought the urge to smile, pleased that it was his turn to be the irritating one.

“I will call you if I find it.” Sherlock’s tone was dripping with resentment.

“Or if you change the plan.” John added, which got him another irritated stare. “Say it.” John ordered, pulling Sherlock towards him. The former soldier’s voice was hushed, but that didn’t make it any less commanding. The tall mans eyes widened momentarily before scowling.

“Or if I change the plan. Satisfied?” He complied, his jaw clenched. John’s eyes flicked from his partner’s eyes to his lips unconsciously.

“Yes.” To which he let go of Sherlock’s arm and watched him turn and walk away, disappearing in the crowd, coat swinging behind him.

* * *

 

John had been playing spot the artifact for 20 minutes now and was having a hard time concentrating on his task. He kept getting distracted by the merchandise. He was particularly absorbed by one booth that sold handmade leather bound journals, spending more time than he should looking at the various models. What he couldn’t understand was why he kept picking them up and flipping through the pages, feeling the heavy leather resting in his hands. He had no idea what he could do with one. It wasn’t like he was the type to keep a journal. The therapist he’d been obliged to visit after Taiwan had suggested he take up a blog; some sort of tool to help him cope with what had happened. Sceptic, he had thought about trying it out the next day, or at least looking at the website. But John had woken up the next morning with a hangover and his computer smashed on the floor, right under a large hole in his wall. He never replaced it. Back then he really didn’t see what he could write about if he wasn’t in the field. And most of his missions were off the books; so what would he have to write about?

John had had plenty of time off in different countries and had always looked around for a gift to bring back to Harry. He never bought anything, always telling himself he didn’t know when he would give it to her anyway. All those countries, all those times, he had always walked around and thought of his sister.

Why was it now when he was back in London that he shopped for himself? And why would a journal catch his attention? Why in London of all places? Frowning, John turned the dark brown leather journal in his hands, his fingers touching the clasp holding it closed when his Farnsworth started ringing. He placed the journal back on the shelf, smiling briefly to the clerk and took the communication device out of his coat pocket.

“Meet me at the entrance.” Was all John heard before Sherlock cut off the communication, not bothering to explain or say if he had found the GPS. Shaking his head, the former soldier turned and walked back. He could see a dark head of curls hovering over the entrance crowd as he approached. Sherlock was concentrated on his Farnsworth, thumb scrolling quickly through whatever information he was looking for.

“Have you found it?” John asked when he was close enough to be heard.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered without looking up.

“So where is it?”

“Vintage objects stand next to the pinned insects one.”

John thought about it for a moment. “The one with the Elvis stuff?”

“Yes.”

“But I passed that one.” John looked back even though he couldn’t see it from here.

“Trained eye.” His partner answered smugly.

“Right, so, why didn’t you tell me to meet you there?”

“Because it’s better if we prepare here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sherlock looked up briefly. “We can’t talk in front of the stand because it will attract the attention of the salesperson that will try and grab the GPS to show it to us, which will make it teleport.”

“Right. Good point.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock muttered. “This would go faster if I didn’t need to explain everything.”

John pursed his lips, fighting the urge to snap at him. He knew this artifact was sort of personal and that biting each other’s heads off wasn’t going to help. He was the one insisting they be a team, might as well lead with the example. “Well lucky for us, this artifact won’t cause the apocalypse, so there’s no rush. Now, how do we catch it?” John asked with a smile that started to falter when he saw his partner shuffle his feet. In all their time together, this man had shown himself prone to the most peculiar habits and a tendency to be brutally honest; but John had never seen him at a loss for words, and certainly not _shuffling his feet_.

“… I don’t know.” Sherlock said softly.

John blinked a few times. “I’m sorry; I thought I heard you say you didn’t know.”

“If this is your attempt at humour-” Sherlock warned but John didn’t let him finish.

“So if I had let you convince me to break into this place in the middle of the night, you’re telling me that we would have gotten here and _not known what to do_?” John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He understood that the chances of the artifact being dangerous were slim, but going head first without a plan was completely out of character for Sherlock.

“I-” Sherlock started to say but nothing followed.

It was worse than John thought. “You know what, never mind. We’re here now, may as well get on with it.”

He was starting to get Sherlock’s frustration towards the GPS; they were stuck chasing an artifact that had _presumably_ been tampered with and no way of confirming it, no way of catching it and yet, here they were; trying to catch the uncatchable. Endless wonder my arse, John thought, more like endless nuisance.

“What did you do last time?” He questioned.

Sherlock lifted his chin and sniffed loudly. “I didn’t catch it, or we wouldn’t be here.” His tone was dripping with resentment.

“Yes, but what did you do to _try_ and catch it?” John asked softly, attempting to show he was just trying to help.

“What does it matter? It didn’t work.” The agent leaned against the wall, stuffing his free hand in his coat pocket. He was getting that slight over aged teenager tone that made John cringe.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what we’re dealing with.” John struggled to say calmly.

“If I couldn’t catch it, I fail to see how you would succeed.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the direct insult to his aptitudes as an agent or if he was just done with Sherlock’s endless game of keeping him in the dark, but John snapped.

“Maybe _you_ don’t know how, but someone does or we wouldn’t be here. So start explaining.” The former soldier ordered. He didn’t want to attract attention to them by shouting even though it would have been satisfying.

He wasn’t expecting to see Sherlock stunned, blinking a few times, then frowning and tilting his head. Feeling a bit guilty for letting his temper get the best of him, John cleared his throat, bringing Sherlock back into the moment. He straightened, opened his mouth, only to close it and stare at John. He could tell Sherlock wasn’t really looking at him. As odd as his behavior was, John decided to blame it on the fact that the man had a lot of history with this artifact, so he gave him the time he needed to provide an explanation.

He wasn’t expecting Sherlock to turn and walk away.

“Sherlock? Where are you going?” John looked into the area they were searching, then back towards his partner moving in the opposite direction. “Sherlock.” He repeated as he caught up.

“Here.” Was all Sherlock answered, handing John a dark brown folder with its edges worn out that was barely containing a thick pile of papers. He turned it in his hands, his fingers brushing the Warehouse seal on the cover. The artifact description page was on top of the pile of case reports, with a picture of the GPS on the left hand side.

“Why didn’t you give this to me yesterday?” John eyes darted from the file to look where he was walking, doing his best to keep up with Sherlock’s rapid pace.

“You left before I found it.”

“You never mentioned you had a file.”

“Of course there’s a file, there’s a file for every single artifact. Haven’t you filed out enough paperwork in six weeks?” The agent replied rapidly.

“Yes, but I thought the file was destroyed after it was entered into the Warehouse Database.” John explained, which made Sherlock shake his head.

“Always keep a hard copy. They learned that the hard way after Warehouse 3 burned down.”

“Warehouse 3?”

“Under the library of Alexandria. Tragic losses. Anyway, finding the file is the tedious part.” Sherlock explained offhandedly.

Six weeks ago, John would have insisted more on the historical aspects of the Warehouse, but for now he decided to let it go.

“You could have said something yesterday; I could have looked for it.”

“Then thank me for getting you out of that chore.” Sherlock concluded as he led them outside.

“Where are we going?” John asked as they crossed the street.

“Somewhere quieter so I can think.”

“As in?”

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked offhandedly.

“I could eat.”

He led them to a small Indian restaurant a few streets down. John read the file while they waited for their order. Well, John’s order. Sherlock didn’t want anything, despite John’s insistence.

A few pages were attached, but most were free and ruffled, piled together uncaringly in the folder. The first pages he saw were the standard paperwork for any artifact, followed by pages and pages of hand written field reviews. Some he could read, some he wasn’t sure if they were written in English. The former soldier sat back in his chair and looked at the pages sprawled across the table and started to understand why Sherlock had been reluctant to show him the file. This was like reading a mental patients journal. Endless pages of equations, weather charts, satellite diagrams, and a fold out world map with markers of different locations, notes, lines connecting them, pictures of the GPS with the date and locations scribbled on the back. Sherlock had chased it everywhere and never understood why it went where it went and never found a way to bring it back. He had tried everything; from sending a signal through satellite, to loosening a bolt on the shelf it was perched upon and waiting for it to fall into a strategically placed suitcase with a cushioned landing, but it disappeared as soon as it started falling. That was the attempt after he had tried to push it with a stick into a waiting vat of neutralizer. As soon as it felt movement, it teleported to protect itself. He even tried to train a dog to drop it into neutraliser; it disappeared and left a disgruntled animal. This led him to try with insects, hoping to train ants, then termites; it didn’t react to being covered in insects, but John didn’t know what Sherlock was expecting. It’s not like they would be able to move it delicately.

He got the same results: as soon as the GPS felt movement, it disappeared.

John looked from the paper covered table to his partner who was silently sitting with his stippled hands against his chin; his eyes closed but with movement behind the lids. He was concerned for his partner. With the evidence in front of him, Sherlock’s reaction yesterday was, well, understandable. John wondered if he would make things worse by asking questions about Irene when his food arrived. He scrambled to gather everything back into the file.

The arrival of John’s plate went unnoticed by his partner. He ate in silence, his eyes darting from the file to Sherlock’s immobile figure.

“Stop it.” Sherlock’s voice surprised John, a slight blush forming on his neck and cheeks, hoping that Sherlock hadn’t noticed he’d been watching him. But the agent’s eyes were still closed.

“Stop what?” John answered, surprising even himself at how honest he could make his face appear.

“Thinking.”

“This again. You gave me a file, what do you think I’m going to do while I’m reading it?” He told the unmoving figure. He couldn’t help it, with what Mrs. Hudson had told him and the evidence in that file, this artifact had the possibility to render Sherlock completely volatile. He was curious why Sherlock chose to show him the file instead of explaining it to him. He understood how telling the story could be difficult, but the file was, well, almost personal. “So we can’t touch it, push it off a shelf or send it instructions... Have you used artifacts on it?”

Sherlock answered him with a discouraged look.

“Hey, I didn’t have time to read everything, give me a break.” John defended himself.

“None that could have a chance to move it without risking them to combine forces and possibly create an even more dangerous artifact.”

“So no artifacts.” John pushed the food around his plate. “It doesn’t make sense.” Sherlock scoffed. “No, I mean, there must be a way.”

“Unless it’s a trap and Irene Adler lied to us.” Sherlock argued flatly.

“Is there a way to prove she was lying?” John wondered, which got him an inquisitive look from his partner.

“Are you defending her?” Sherlock asked accusingly.

“What? No. If we can figure out if she’s lying or not, then we can confirm someone has in fact tampered with the GPS.” John protested quickly, cursing himself as he did so. By the way Sherlock was looking at him now, it was clear he wasn’t buying it either. “What, uh, what happened between the two of you?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

“Really? Cause I’ve never seen you threaten someone with bronzing, whatever the hell that is.” Sherlock was about to speak when John cut him off. “And so help me if you tell me to go read the manual...”

The agent couldn’t help but smile at his partner’s reaction. “Lucky for you, there is absolutely no record of the bronze sector.”

“Why?”

“Because keeping a list of what is in that sector could destroy the world.”

John knew what he was hearing was true, but he could do without the dramatic tone. “Exactly how many ways are there to destroy the world in the Warehouse?”

This made Sherlock pause. He stared at John, a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you really want to know?” His tone was neutral, but John could hear the slight taunt.

“Probably not.” He answered, clearing his throat. “But you still haven’t told me what bronzing is.”

Sherlock straightened before speaking, his eyes scanning the restaurant while he spoke. “It’s the Warehouse’s version of a prison. Only instead of keeping them in cells, their bodies are encased in bronze. The bronze sector houses history’s most dangerous criminals.”

“Who?”

Sherlock glanced at him momentarily. “Well, don’t expect a list. But they aren’t Hitler or evil dictators; they were on their way to becoming them, or much worse, but the Warehouse got to them first.”

“Ok, but, how does it work?”

“With the help of a Mesopotamian artifact, the Warehouse developed a system that allows us to encase their bodies into bronze, preserving them indefinitely. Kind of like mummification.”

John’s brain instantly provided him with the image of Han Solo encased in carbonite, to which his eyebrows raised in shock. “Wait, you mean they’re... still alive?”

Sherlock’s head tilted to the side. “Technically, yes. It preserves awareness, but they don’t suffer any physical stress. Well, if done properly they don’t.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and his partner’s careless tone wasn’t helping. “Are you listening to yourself? How is that better than killing? Its torture, you’re trapping them inside a bronze coffin, alive and conscious. What is wrong with you?”

Sherlock’s eyes slowly moved to stare down at the shorter man, making a point of emphasising their height difference. “Are you already forgetting that you encountered your deceased teammate? We can’t risk killing them if there is any possibility of someone bringing them back to life. What do you think is going to happen then? The only way to prevent whatever they were trying to do from happening again is to keep them in the Warehouse.”

John still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that death wasn’t a definitive state anymore. As much as he didn’t like the idea of trapping people alive, if they were as dangerous as Sherlock was saying, maybe this bronzing thing really was the best option.

“So what did Irene do to deserve your dangerous criminal tag, all the while getting special treatment from Mycroft?”

“Mycroft had nothing to do with that agreement.” Sherlock said in a huff, making John’s train of thought stop.

How can it be possible for Mycroft not to be involved? Who did she make the agreement with? He was about to ask when Sherlock cut him off.

“She’s a selfish manipulative woman that blackmailed her way into keeping her artifact collection that she uses in the most obscene manners for her unfortunately very lucrative business.”

“Which is?”

“Sex.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, she prefers the term Dominatrix. I don’t.”

“With... artifacts?” John said in a tight voice.

“I know, horrid. Now, I’ve been looking into her client list in the past 6 months and from what I can tell of her itinerary, she visited at least two artifact hot spots in eastern Asia and one while she was in South America. The good thing is, she was nowhere near the inactive Warehouse locations. But she did go to- ” The words streamed out of Sherlock’s mouth, speaking while taking out his notebook and putting his Farnsworth/iphone hybrid on the table to show John the client list while flipping to the right page. All this without once looking directly at John, or he would of noticed the glazed over look, evidently showing he had not heard a word his partner had just said. “Rome.” Sherlock stated, pointing to a sketch of an armor. “There’s a rumor going around that a Spartan armor could have been found. Did she really think she could cover her tracks?” Sherlock concluded, picking up his phone again to access the Warehouse database.  

“Sex.” John broke the silence, making Sherlock look up at him, his brow furrowed. “With artifacts.” John gaze crossing Sherlock’s briefly, hoping to god that he wouldn’t see his blush.

“Really, John? That’s what you’re taking out of what I just said?”

“Right.” John cleared his throat loudly as he adjusted himself in his seat. He didn’t see how using artifacts... that way... would deserve the threat of a bronze cage and didn’t think asking Sherlock was the best of ideas. “Right. You were saying?”

“The Spartan Armor.” Sherlock repeated.

“What does that have to do with the GPS?” John asked, a bit lost in his partner’s train of thought.

“Irene; we can track down who told her about it.” John blinked at the explanation.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, what? You’re the one always going on about communication yet you can’t even finish a sentence properly.” The agent snapped.

“You aren’t even trying to find a way to catch the GPS?”

“It can’t be caught.”

“Then how did someone tamper with it?” John asked, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms.

“That woman has no proof to support her statement. We don’t know if it’s true, but that’s exactly what I’m trying to find out! Haven’t you been listening?” Sherlock justified impatiently, brandishing his phone towards John.

He didn’t move a muscle, unimpressed by his partner’s answer. “So you aren’t even going to try?”

“I am trying.” Sherlock pointed out.

John rolled his eyes and rephrased. “I mean, you aren’t even going to try and figure out how to catch it?”

“I am figuring it out.”

 It really was like arguing with an oversized child. “It doesn’t even bother you that someone figured it out before you did?”

“Until I have actual proof of it; no.”

But if it was true, John could tell it would bother Sherlock and was unimpressed by his high air. “So that’s it. You’re just going to avoid it altogether?”

“I’m not avoiding it; I’m taking a different approach.”

“Bit of a detour, don’t you think?”

That got a reaction out of Sherlock.

“Alright, since you insist we do this whole teamwork bit; what’s your plan?”

John straightened in his chair, taken off guard. “Fine, so I don’t have a better idea, but we can’t just fly off to Greece, someone has to watch it.”

“Watch it do what? Stay there?”

“Maybe more.”

“If it even _does_ anything. Tampered doesn’t mean it’s a time bomb.”

John couldn’t help it; he had a point. What could they do besides look at it? And even if they somehow figured out a way to get a perimeter around it, they would most likely get thrown out of the market for it. But they still couldn’t risk leaving it there without supervision.

“I’m just saying we shouldn’t leave it just yet. You said it yourself, as soon as we started tracking it, it moved. So there’s a reason it’s here, right?” John didn’t know how, but he knew, just _knew_ they shouldn’t leave. John was feeling the full force of Sherlock’s all seeing stare and didn’t move a muscle, determination present in every fiber of his being.

Without warning, the senior agent stood, straightening his coat. Flipping up his collar, he turned towards the door. “Come along, Watson.”

The former soldier rolled his eyes at the dramatics, dropped a few bills on the table and followed.

John continued to follow Sherlock through the streets, who was making a point of showing just how fast he could walk. When they stepped into the vendor’s room he was forced to slow down and to follow him through the crowded alleyways. They slowed when the booth was in eyesight. They hovered a few feet away, feigning to look at the clothes on the booth facing it.

“Where is it?” John asked Sherlock quietly.

“You want to learn? Spot it yourself.”

 John hesitated, wondering if Sherlock really was letting him learn or if he was just being difficult.

“Without getting the vendor’s attention.”

“Right.” John breathed deeply before putting a bored look on his face. “Act as if you’re interested by this stuff.” He told Sherlock, nodding towards the racks of clothes. He then slowly turned around, his eyes looking everywhere, swiping a look across their target every now and then.

There was just so much crap crammed in there. It was like a bad game of spot the differences. He waited until the owner was busy talking to customers to get a better look.

“I’m a good actor but no person in their right mind would spend more time browsing here.” Sherlock complained.

“Sly bugger.” John cursed under his breath, but turned and started walking away from the booth. “I’ll try again in 5 minutes or so.” He said when they had turned the corner of the alleyway and stopped.

“And when you’re done with your game, what do you suggest we do?”

“As much as I appreciate you doing the effort of including me, I could do without the condescending tone.”

They stared at each other, both biting the inside of their cheeks to stop from saying anything else that could make things worse. But as shit as this situation was, John had to admit this was the most cooperation they had had since... well, their first case.

Sighing heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose before straightening. “Let’s... Let’s just take it from the top. Going on the theory that someone tampered with the GPS-” John started reciting when Sherlock cut in.

“There’s no way of knowing if Irene is telling the truth, well, not without using a certain artifact on her.”

“Which is not an option.” John stated without hesitation.

“So boring.”

“But going on the theory that it has-”

“Then you would be wrong.”

 John’s head turned towards Sherlock at his words. “What? Why?”

“Because that woman is leading us into a trap, we can’t trust anything she says.”

The former soldier rubbed his face with his hand. “Then what do you suggest we do?” He asked, irritated.

“We look at the facts.”

“You did that five years ago and didn’t succeed, how would it be any different now?”

a slow smile spread across Sherlock’s face before he spoke. “Because it detected us.”

John was practically waiting for the cheesy dramatic music to start playing. “I know you think you look cool when you do the whole cryptic answer thing, but honestly, it’s really annoying, and it kind of reminds me of Mycroft.”

That got Sherlock to grimace before explaining further. “It was in the south of Moscow when we started tracing it. Then it moved to London. Those are the only tangible facts we have. There are two possible explanations; someone just so happened to touch it soon after we had traced it and it just so happened to move to London.”He tried to keep his voice low while they made their way back around to the booth so John could try spotting it again.

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences?”

“I don’t.” Sherlock answered with a knowing smile. John figured it was just simpler to play his partner’s game if he wanted things to move along.

“So what’s the other possibility?”

“It was ordered to move to London when it detected our tracking signal.” The former soldier frowned at the idea.

“Ordered? How?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve tried sending it a signal from the Warehouse computer before, the same way we tracked it this time. I never got any indication that it was aware that I was tracking it. No matter what type of command I tried it never reacted. So it must be a physical connection, but that’s impossible.” The tall man stated as they turned the corner, their target 3 booths down on the left.

“Ok, how else can we command it?”

Sherlock stopped walking momentarily at the question. “What do you mean _how else_? There’s no other way.”

“Yes, there is, or we wouldn’t be here.” John riposted without waiting for his partner to catch up. “You said it yourself, there is no way it moved here on its own at the exact moment we started a trace. It was told to do so. Maybe you can do it from a computer but you just need to be next to it. Send a stronger signal.” They slowed as they approached the booth, standing out of the way of the alley circulation but close enough for John to try spotting it.

“Do you really think I didn’t try that?” Sherlock reproached in a hushed tone.

The former soldier stopped looking for the GPS and looked up at his partner. “Maybe I would know if I have had a chance to go through the entire file if I had gotten it yesterday, so stop being insulted when I ask you questions.” He shook his head, discouraged, and put his attention back on the matter at hand. “You’re really a shit teacher, you know that?” John commented when he suddenly locked eyes with the GPS.

It was squeezed between the feet of a life size sculpture of Elvis and a gray tool box in the far corner. He rolled his eyes. This GPS definitely liked to play games. It had chosen the only spot where it could blend in properly. It’s gray 90s plastic bulky shape stood out from all of the 50’s memorabilia once you noticed it. Smiling, John turned back towards Sherlock.

“Found it.”

“Here, have a gold star.”

“Piss off.” John cursed, his eyes back on the target.

“Let’s go.” Sherlock declared, stepping to move past John towards the exit, but John’s hand pressed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Where?”

“To the Warehouse.” The agent explained, making no sense to John.

“Why?”

“No point being here if we don’t have a plan.” Sherlock argued, brushing aside John’s arm.

“It still needs surveillance.”

“It’s not going anywhere.”

“Unless someone touches it.”

“It won’t leave this area.”

“You can’t know that.”

They stared at each other, neither showing signs of backing down.

“The evidence suggests it’s here for us, so it will stay close until we’ve figured out why.” Sherlock countered.

“What if it’s rigged?”

“It’s not dangerous.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can and I do.” Sherlock had had enough of the recruits constant nagging. “There is absolutely no way to touch it, even with an object. Unless there happens to be a bomb in that tool box, there is nothing life threatening here. Stay if you want, but I’m going back to the Warehouse.” He concluded, his tone final as he stared down at his partner.

John knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, now that he thought about it; it was surprising he hadn’t already turned and left already. “Fine. I’ll stay until closing time.” John offered reluctantly.

“As you wish.” Was the last thing Sherlock said before he turned and started walking away.

“Call me if there’s anything.” John added loudly.

Which got no response.

Tightening his hands into fists, John took a few deep breaths. He’s trying, he really is, they both are, but John was starting to wonder if it was too little too late. With a heavy sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared into the crowded booths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information on [Hardboiled fiction](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hardboiled)  
> 


	4. Waypoint

**Chapter 4**

The heavy reinforced metal door of the office creaked loudly as John opened the latch and pushed it open. Sighing loudly, he closed it behind him and looked around the empty office. The experiment table had been tidied. No, cleared, which was odd. Very odd. He was about to take out his Farnsworth to call Sherlock when he noticed him in the Warehouse surveillance cameras. He couldn’t tell if he was walking back to the office since he wasn’t familiar enough with the layout, but the important thing was that he hadn’t gone somewhere without saying.

Relieved, John made his way to the kettle, which boiled right when he saw a dark mop of hair appear at the top of the stairs leading up to the balcony’s office door.

“Good, you’re back; I need a test subject.” Sherlock said as he walked into the office.

“And yet that sentence had started out so well.” John muttered as he poured water into his cup.

Sherlock dropped a file on the desk and grabbed what seemed like a 90’s walkman without the headphones and walked toward John. “Hold this.”

The soldier put down the kettle and held his hands up to hold him back. “Not until you tell me what it is.”

“It’s a GPS.” Sherlock explained as if it were obvious.

“Will it explode?” John questioned, which got him a surprised look from Sherlock, and he could have sworn he saw hurt.

“Just hold it.” Sherlock ordered in a gruff before pushing it into John’s chest forcefully and walking back to the computer.

“My concerns are founded.” John looked at the makeshift GPS in his hand and couldn’t shake off the idea that it could possibly hurt him. It was as if now, he saw seemingly mundane objects as potentially dangerous. The more inoffensive they seem, the higher the potential of being deadly.   

“It happened one time!” Sherlock protested over his shoulder.

John frowned. “More than once.”

“It doesn’t count if you put the bomb onto yourself.” He argued, hitting the keyboard keys a bit more forcefully.

John conceded. “Alright, what do I have to do?”

“Just hold it for now.”

“Do I have to stay here or can I go to my chair?” He asked as he reached for his drink.

“You can go in four seconds when I’ve locked onto your location.”

 John sipped his tea loudly.

“Ok, you can move now.” Sherlock announced with an irritated undertone.

“So are you going to explain to me what you’re doing?” John asked once he was seated.

He heard Sherlock’s hesitation as he stopped tapping the keyboard briefly. “Unless I get some type of result it’s not worth explaining.”

It was good to know Sherlock had kept himself busy all afternoon and was now testing a theory, but he still wanted to know what he had just agreed to do. “How about the research?”

“Refer to previous answer.”

“Right.” Giving up on getting his partner to talk, John occupied himself with his tea.

“You?” Sherlock asked after a moment.

John cleared his throat loudly, putting aside his teacup, buying time before answering. What was he supposed to say? That Sherlock was right? That staying there had been pointless?

“Well, let’s just say I got to train my eye today.”

Sherlock spun his chair towards him with a Cheshire cat smile. “Spotted?”

“Yup.”

“Where did it teleport?”

“The first time you mean?” John explained while scratching the back of his head. Sherlock’s smile widened. “The row over, at the cell phone cover booth. I was so surprised to find it that I caught the attention of the girl working there and she reached for it. Then it actually moved back to the Elvis stand.”

“How long did it take you to find it?”

 John groaned at the question, rubbing his face with his hand. “Four hours the first time. Ninety minutes the second. Good timing on the second; found it just before they announced the shops were closing. I just hope it’s still going to be there tomorrow.”

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, arms crossed. “Not bad.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really, I was sure you were going to call me if it moved.”

“Wanker.” He certainly wasn’t going to admit he almost did the first time. “So how long am I supposed to hold this thing anyway?” He asked, waving the makeshift GPS at Sherlock.

“Until you’ve walked around the Warehouse with it.” Sherlock told him as he swiveled back towards the screens.

“Nope.” John answered, sinking down into his chair and stretching out his legs. He had done enough walking around for the day.

“But John-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence when his eyes locked with John’s.

He really was trying to be patient with Sherlock, but he was already at the end of his leash. “Give me one good reason to.”

“It’s to protect us.”

John waited for the rest of the explanation until he remembered who he was dealing with. “How.” He asked patiently.

He could do without Sherlock’s exasperated sigh as he rolled closer to him.

“Really John, didn’t you learn this at the academy? Because with the set up we’re investigating, the GPS is bait and we’re the fish they’re trying to catch.”

Sometimes John wondered if getting him mad really was Sherlock’s goal. Like getting beat up just for the kick of it. Pushing down his anger, John answered with a calm voice. “Alright, then who’s holding the line?”

“Too early to tell. I'd need the GPS to possibly know more.”

John straightened in his chair and stared at his partner; he really was a good liar, but his timing was off. He spoke too soon. John could tell it was a prepared answer. He probably even planned the conversation.

“Bullshit.”

Sherlock frowned. “What are you talking about, you know perfectly well that the GPS is-”

John cut him off. “Not that: too early to tell. You’ve only given me that excuse one time and it was when... Wait, does this have something to do with Manning?”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate. “There’s no evidence linking Manning to the GPS-”

John cut him off again, knowing this was most likely another rehearsed bit. “I get why you didn’t want to speculate about Manning, but why not talk to me about the GPS? Is it because it involves... Irene Adler?”

With what Mrs. Hudson had told him, John suspected that it had more to do with his previous partner, whatever his name was. But he figured this could be as good a time as any to try and get more information on the woman. He still didn’t know the details of that case and Sherlock over reacting at her presence could easily be explained by an affair of some sort between them. It would also explain why he would refuse to talk to John about it.

“Of course not.” Sherlock protested with a repulsed look.

“Your old partner?” John froze, his eyes on the floor. It just slipped out of his mouth. Of course he was curious, but he would have liked to ease into the subject, not blurt it out. Cringing inwardly, John looked up and watched his partner’s stone mask slip on slowly.

Hard eyes stared back.

“What did Mycroft tell you?”

“Nothing. I-”

“What do you know?” The deep voice rumbled in the room, each word slicing the air.

Instinctively, John looked his partner straight in the eye and told him the truth. “Mrs. Hudson told me you lost him soon after you started working on the GPS, and that you didn’t take it so well in the following months. That’s all I know.” John could see Sherlock’s struggle to keep his calm until he visually confirmed that John was telling the truth.

They held each other’s gaze, a silence stretching between them.

“Did you ask her to tell you more?”

“Yes.” He admitted without hesitating, getting a small reaction from his partner. “She told me to ask you.”

John braced himself for what was likely to become a more emotionally straining conversation than he had expected. He was starting to understand why Sherlock would have blown a fuse with this particular artifact. After having spent the day playing hide and seek with the GPS, John pictured doing this for 6 months. Being the adrenaline junkie that he was, John knew he would have given up way before Sherlock, or he would have gone mad.

It dawned on John that he had gone through this alone. No, he had lost his partner along the way. John couldn’t help the look of empathy on his face. If he had been in the same situation, it was most likely he wouldn’t be alive today.

“Look, I know how it is to lose-”

“John, stop talking.” The agent cut him off.

“Sherlock-”

“Are you forgetting where you’re standing?” His voice was dripping with condescension.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that here, in the Warehouse, death is not the only way for an agent to stop being an agent.”

John’s control was wearing thin. “I take it that’s as much an explanation as I’m going to get?”

“Yes. And don’t try to find the agent file, it’s restricted. Now go walk in the Warehouse so I can test the GPS prototype.” Sherlock ordered, rolling back towards the desk and waving John away like he was the embodiment of aristocracy.

John stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “What made you like this?”

“Nothing made me.” With a twist of his wrist, the monitors sprung back to life. “I made me.” Sherlock concluded, as much to himself as to John.

He just didn’t know what to do anymore, how to make things better between them. “I could leave you know.” John threatened, getting an eyebrow raise from his partner. “When it’s over. With Manning.”

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please, we both know you won’t leave.”

“Well if you keep acting like an arrogant git who doesn’t care about anybody but himself, I don’t really see the point of staying.” John received the full force of his partner’s stare. Could feel his eyes as they roamed from the top of his head to the tip of his fingers; see the slight frown as he eyed the bottom of his trousers.

Sherlock’s eyes locked with John’s, silence heavy as he weighed his partner. The former soldier stood still, readying himself for the verbal onslaught. John could tell when his partner’s brain was done processing, his eyes narrowing as he took a breath.

“You will never leave because this is the best job you’ve ever had. Every moment of your day is filled with the most absurd and dangerous objects found on the face of this earth. You live every day surrounded with enigma, thrill, history, and discovery. You have the chance to travel around the world and not just fix things, but prevent them. This job lets you help people on a scale you never even believed possible.”

“None of that matters if you don’t care about everything you just said.”

“How does that have anything to do with you?”

John’s eyes widened momentarily, surprised he even needed to explain this. He knew his partner was socially inapt, but this seemed a little extreme, even for him. “Because we’re a team. Partners.”

Sherlock frowned. “I may have my own reasons to dedicate my life as a Warehouse agent, but I fail to see how it would affect yours.”

John stared blankly. He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re serious.”

“Of course-”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“John, this really isn’t the time to-”

But John kept talking. “You are an idiot because even with that over developed brain of yours, you can’t understand that I will not stand here day in and day out and let you treat me like shit and then run out and risk our lives recklessly. I know what the life expectancy of this job is, but it doesn’t give you the right to risk my life without talking to me about it. I don’t know what the hell happened to get you to this point, but if I am going to be your partner, something needs to change.”

“I didn’t even do anything reckless today. I even called you when I found it.”

“That’s not the...” John put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. “Because it’s not just about when we’re in the field.” He shook his head. “God, how can I explain this?” he added, more to himself. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk about what happened with...” He waved his hand, not knowing what term to use for Sherlock’s ex partner without making things worse. “But don’t brush me off like I’m some stranger when I risk my life with you every other day. I wouldn’t risk your life carelessly, so I’d appreciate it if you would do the same.”

“Why do you care if I live?”

Sherlock’s question seemed so absurd to John that he shook his head. “What?”

“Did you suddenly go deaf again?”

John paused at Sherlock’s sharp tone. This was a much more sensitive subject than he assumed. “No, I mean, what do you mean _why_ do I care if you live? You’re my partner; I don’t need more of a reason than that.”

“As simple as that?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the medical oath?”

“No, that has nothing to do with...” John paused, concerned by where the conversation was leading them. “What, you don’t care if I die?” He was more preoccupied with the fact that he felt the need to _ask_ then what Sherlock’s answer could be.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, one arm across his chest as a finger lay on his chin. “Well, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“You have to think about it?!” John exclaimed in disbelief.

His partner narrowed his gaze. “Why is this so important to you?”

John could tell Sherlock was trying to take back control of the conversation and decided it wasn’t going to happen. “Well for starters, if you don’t care about my life-”

“Well obviously I care about that.” The agent stated with an eye roll.

John froze mid movement, his mind struggling to understand his partner’s logic. “Then explain to me the difference between caring for my life, and having to think about whether or not you care about my death.” He asked, leaning against the backrest, ready to hear whatever might come out of that brilliant twisted mind.

“You keep forgetting where you work.” Sherlock reproached, but John didn’t bite and waited for him to continue. “You already know about Bronzing.”

John nodded.

“You have to think of your body as transport. Over the years the Warehouse has developed many ways to preserve former agent’s contributions and pass them on to the next generation. So even though there are artifacts that heal or bring the dead back to life, as long as we can preserve consciousness, that’s all that really matters.”

John didn’t know if Sherlock’s pause was for dramatic effect or to leave him a moment to grasp what he was trying to explain.

“Loss is a loose concept for a Warehouse agent.” Sherlock continued. “So does the event of your death affect me? Think of it as another case, only you’re looking for the artifact to fix it. But your life; clearly I don’t need to explain the value of your life.”

Sherlock’s offhanded tone wasn’t helping John believe what he was hearing. “Well seeing as how death is a gray zone, might as well clear up your view on life, or rather my life.”

“Unless you plan on taking over the world with the help of an artifact, I will do everything in my power to keep your life safe.”

John still wasn’t buying it. “You do know there’s a difference between saying something and actually doing it?”

“Why is this so important to you? Why all the teamwork speeches?” Sherlock asked impatiently. “Is this about losing your team? It happened 3 years ago, how could it still bother you?”

John was stunned. He had caught on that the man lacked empathy, but this. “It’s because we’re partners you bloody idiot! We fucking live together!” His hands tightened on the armrests as he looked up at the ceiling, willing himself not to give into the urge to knock some sense into the man. “As much as I find you the biggest prick to ever walk the earth, I am stuck with you, and you’re stuck with me. This means that what affects you, affects me. If you die, I will have a problem with that, and I bloody well hope you feel your grayish version of that. So suck it up and start acting like it or I swear to God-”

“Threats are probably not the best way to start out a working relationship.” Sherlock cut him off.

John stood. “Fuck it. I give up. I will leave as soon as Manning has been dealt with.” And walked to the door.

“John-”

“No.” He turned, took one step towards Sherlock and stopped. His eyes narrowed as he spoke in a low voice. “I mean it, Sherlock. Change your fucking attitude or I am gone the minute it’s over.” John stared at him, just long enough to watch his partner _see_ that he wasn’t lying.

He turned, walked straight out of the office and slammed the door. He didn’t see Sherlock flinch as the sound rang loudly in the empty room. He didn’t see his mask come off, or the pensive look that spread across his features.

* * *

 

As soon as he stepped inside the flat, John headed directly to the cupboard under the sink to get his whiskey bottle. Not bothering to get a glass, he took a swig and closed his eyes as he felt the burn, making himself focus on it. He turned and leaned against the counter and opened his eyes.

The sight of the office replica made his blood boil.

If it really was true that it was Sherlock’s fault the flat looked this way, then... What the hell was wrong with him? John could relate to dedicating his life to his job, but this was extreme.

But if the flat adapts to its inhabitants, why hadn’t it changed since he’d been here?

“Am I doing something wrong?” He asked the empty room. “Let me guess: read the manual?”

Shaking his head, John headed upstairs, the only room where he felt he could get away from it all.

He could hear the whiskey splash around the bottle as he made his way upstairs. He didn’t care if they were in a middle of a case; he just wanted to turn off his brain.

What he had heard tonight, what they had discussed, had affected John more than he would have thought, and in ways he didn’t want to admit to himself and certainly wasn’t going to try and deal with tonight. So John did what he had become rather good at over the years: pushed it all down and hoped that the whiskey will make him forget about it all.

Even if it was temporary, even if it meant he would spend the next day nursing a hangover while on a case.

* * *

 

John woke up the next morning by turning onto his back and hitting his head on the soon to be empty whiskey bottle lying next to him. He was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, lying on top of his sheets.

“For fuck’s sake.” He moaned into his pillow, turning to shield his eyes from the painful light.

That’s when he heard... nothing.

John’s eyes snapped open, listening intently.

Nothing.

He reached for his phone.

Nine o’clock. How can it be nine o’clock? Or that he even woke up on his own? Why hadn’t Sherlock screamed or banged on his door yet telling him to get dressed already? Could he still be sleeping? He went through what he knew of Sherlock’s sleeping habits during a case.

Cursing, John got out of bed, dressed quickly and headed downstairs, Tesla in hand.

Something must be wrong.

He didn’t know if it was the hangover making him paranoid, but he didn’t want to take any chances. As Sherlock kept pointing out, the Warehouse had its own set of rules.

It hadn’t taken long after his arrival to memorise a path down the stairs to avoid the ones that creaked. He silently made his way to the door leading into the sitting room/office. Ignoring his pounding headache, John listened for any sign of movement.

Still nothing. Not even from Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

Swiftly, John twisted around and aimed his Tesla at the open door, directly at Sherlock lying on the couch with his eyes closed in a pose that suggested he was in his mind palace.

“Fucking hell.” John cursed, dropped his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Hum?” Sherlock opened one eye at the sound of John’s voice. “Oh, you’re up.” He stated before closing it again.

Now that the adrenaline rush had passed, his hangover was hitting him full force, making him on edge. “Why didn’t you wake me?” He sounded angrier than he really was. Even though John was relieved that nothing was wrong, the only thing going through his mind was: When did I get this paranoid? Talk about overreacting.

Sherlock lifted his head slowly and narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you angry because I _didn’t_ wake you up?”

Sherlock’s voice snapped John out of his train of thought. “What? No. No, that’s not what I meant. I- I just...” He rubbed his face with his free hand, as if it could help him gather his thoughts and explain. “It’s nine o’clock.”

Sherlock glanced at the clock. “So it is, but I fail to see why that would make you point your Tesla at me first thing in the morning.”

“Doesn’t the market open at nine?”

“Normally, yes. But it’s Sunday: eleven to five.” He corrected before closing his eyes and from what John could tell, went back to his mind palace.

“Right.”

He heavily made his way to the kitchen sink to down a glass of water. Ignoring his nausea, John considered going back to bed for an hour, but figured a shower would probably do more good.

Once he was showered and dressed, wet hair sticking out every which way, John went straight for the coffee pot, which he found full of a fresh brew. Surprised, he turned to see Sherlock sitting on the couch, reading the paper spread across the coffee table, a steaming mug to his right.

Shrugging, John reached for a cup. He sat down in his chair, holding the warm drink as if it were the key to ending the lingering pain caused by the alcohol in his system. “Thanks.”

“For?” Sherlock inquired without looking up from his article.

“Coffee.”

“I wanted coffee, figured you’d want some, what with that hangover.” He explained flatly as he turned a page, his eyes looking up briefly. 

“Oh.” John felt he should say something, anything about the previous evening, but his head was a mess. He knew this was Sherlock’s way of apologising. Well, maybe not apologising, but at least it was some sort of gesture to... make things better? John didn’t know anymore, and he certainly wasn’t going to figure it out at this moment. “Well, thanks anyway.”

They sat in silence, for which John was grateful. He wasn’t sure where they stood, and they should discuss it sooner or later, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen this morning.

When John stood to refill his cup, he lingered between the kitchen and sitting room and watched Sherlock read the paper. The painkillers and coffee were finally starting to kick in, and even though John still felt hung-over, he knew he would make it through the day. It didn’t have anything to do with Sherlock’s attitude this morning. Not really. He just made extra coffee. And didn’t wake John up screaming.

Yet, John felt relieved, because it somehow showed him there was hope.

John cleared his throat and looked down at his drink. “So when did you want to leave for the market?” He looked up.

Sherlock’s eye’s flickered towards John. “You can go whenever you please, I’ll be at the Warehouse.”

John looked down at his coffee again. He should have figured it wasn’t going to be that easy. “I think we should go to the market together.” John tried to ignore how weird that just sounded and waited.

Sherlock looked up slowly, his eyes taking in John’s tired but determined stance. “Fine.” The agent conceded, turning the page and went back to his paper. Frozen mid movement, John’s face was puzzled by his partner’s absence of argument.

“That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“Aren’t you going to argue that it’s useless for both of us to be there?”

“I don’t need to, you already know.”

“Then why are you agreeing to go?”

“Isn’t this what you want? The teamwork bit?”

“Well, yes, but...” John didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to explain in a way for Sherlock to understand that giving John the lead and not voicing his opinions didn’t make them a team.

“But what, John? Really, make up your mind.”

“No, its fine, really, it’s just... Well, it’s just so... sudden. And rather out of character for you.”

“Are you saying you _want_ me to argue?”

“Yes. No. It’s not. I-” John scratched the back of his head. “Forget it, I appreciate the coffee, and if you’re ready, I’ll be in five minutes.” He offered with a small smile that went unnoticed since his partner was reading again, only acknowledging him with a humming sound.

John nursed his coffee as he silently finished getting ready to go. He was too tired and aching all over to be discouraged by his partner’s social inaptitude. He just wanted to get through the day in one piece and ideally, catch that damned contraption.

* * *

 

They stepped out of the cab and walked across King’s street towards the main entrance of the Market. Barely a word had been spoken since they had left the flat. John wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad sign, but his head was grateful for it.

Their footsteps echoed in the almost deserted main hall, somehow making the silence between them stand out.

John eyed his partner.

“What?” Sherlock asked without looking at him.

“I- uh.”John cleared his throat. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“What?” The agent stopped mid stride and looked at his partner expectantly.

John halted as well, a step in front of Sherlock. “Fine.” He whispered to himself. He looked down at the floor, attempting to gather his thoughts before turning around. “After last night’s... discussion, I appreciate you trying to make things... better,” John cursed his lack of vocabulary. “But if you’re here just so I’ll stop nagging and aren’t actually going to try to catch the GPS-.”

“John-” Sherlock attempted to cut in.

“If you won’t even give it a go, then why are you here?” John was coming off angrier than he was. He was more concerned about what would happen in the long run. Quite frankly, when the selfish bastard you’ve been working/living with for weeks suddenly starts making you coffee, stops arguing and listens to you... its really creepy. Clearly it wouldn’t take longer than a day or two for Sherlock to go back to his old ways of disappearing in the middle of a case and unnecessarily risking their lives.

Sherlock’s icy tone confirmed John had come off angry. “If you already know its pointless then why do you insist I come along?”

Shit, thought John. He wasn’t the type to try and convince someone to do something they didn’t want to do. But Sherlock had come here of his own volition. What John had a problem with was him being here and not doing his job, which shouldn’t be that hard, considering what they had encountered together in John’s short time as a Warehouse agent. His discussion with Mrs. Hudson came to mind. “Listen, when Mrs. Hudson told me about you losing your former partner,” he noticed Sherlock stiffened lightly, but he kept talking. “She also told me that this job isn’t meant to be done alone.”

Sherlock scoffed.

John waited for the witty comeback, looked up in surprise at his partner’s silence and figured he better keep going before Sherlock got bored. “And now that I’m here... well, she seemed pretty convinced we’re going to catch it.” John wasn’t entirely convinced of it himself, but his instinct was telling him this was their best shot at succeeding.

“Great, landlady prophecies.” Sherlock commented sarcastically.

“Ok, maybe not the best argument,” John conceded. “But if someone has a chance to catch it, it’s you.” He figured flattering his partner’s ego couldn’t hurt. “But in order for you to do that, you need to actually be here.”

Sherlock looked down at him, using the full effect of his height to emphasise his words. “God, how I envy you sometimes, with your flaccid mind, being able to believe so easily.”

John could feel himself lose it. His normal level of self control had weakened because of the hangover. He wanted this to be as pleasant as it could be, but he certainly wasn’t going to take Sherlock’s bullshit all day. “I have seen a lot of unexplainable things since I became an agent and there’s a lot I don’t understand, mostly because you don’t explain shit to me. I’m just supposed to shut up and follow like a good little soldier. Well now it’s your turn to shut up and listen. If we have any chance at succeeding here, it’s together. So suck it up and do it.” John voice had stayed low; his commanding tone creeping in towards the end. He took a short breath, shifted his weight. “We’ll see what happens and go on from there.”

They stood there a moment, staring at each other in the entrance hall growing more and more crowded. The sounds of the shops preparing for the work day filled the silence between them.

Sherlock couldn’t help it; he couldn’t understand John’s faith, his ability to put his trust into him and the Warehouse so easily. It completely contradicted what he had read in his file. He didn’t want to admit it, but he kept being surprised by his new partner. Sherlock could see every time his left hand twitched with anger, yet he still insisted they stick together.

“Alright.” Sherlock conceded to his partner’s surprise.

Of course Sherlock was aware he was being difficult and he had his reasons for doing so. Some related to what happened the first time he encountered the GPS.

Some not.

He might tell John one day, but not today and certainly not now.

With his best exasperated expression, Sherlock gestured John to lead the way.

* * *

 

The merchants were still setting up as they made their way towards the last known location of the GPS: the Elvis memorabilia booth.

“Shit.” John cursed when he saw the empty spot against the tool box.

Sherlock sighed and mumbled. “I’ll go this way.”

John blocked his path. “No, we stick together. It’s probably back at the cell phone case stand. It would stick out anywhere else.”

Sherlock simply shrugged and followed John over to the next row, ignoring the shorter man’s aggravated look. The GPS was nowhere to be found. Without a word, Sherlock continued walking along the stands, eyes scanning. Grumbling to himself, John caught up with him and joined the search.

They found it twenty-seven minutes later near the entrance between a table cloth and a trashcan.

“Right.” John scanned the room, looking anywhere but towards the artifact. “Coffee?” He offered. It’s not like they had anything better to do until they figured things out.

“Tea.”

* * *

 

Drinks in hand, they slowly made their way back. John attempted to brainstorm ideas on how to bring it back to the warehouse and wasn’t surprised when it turned out to be a rather one sided conversation.

They had been standing next to the GPS for ten minutes when John shook his arm.

“Sherlock!”

“What?”

“I asked you the name of the inventor. Geez, were you even listening?”

“Oh.” Sherlock answered offhandedly. “No, I tuned you out at the coffee shop. I needed to think.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “For fuck’s sake.” He cursed softly through his clenched teeth. “No wonder we can’t work properly together. You don’t check if I’m there when you even bother to tell me what’s going on, and if I’m talking to you, you aren’t even _listening_ to me.” He complained, not noticing the taller man’s head snap up.

“That’s it.” Sherlock whispered to himself, his eyes wide, scanning something only he could see. “That must be it, there’s no other way.”

“What?” John asked, finally noticing his partner and turning to face him. “What’s it? Are you still not listening to me?”

Sherlock took out his Farnsworth, his fingers flying across the screen. “Why didn’t I-?”

“Sherlock, what-?” John asked as he leaned in to try and see what his partner was typing.

“It must only have a few thousand words of vocabulary...” Sherlock tusked at the screen. “Of course, school mates, so obvious.”

“ _Sherlock_.” John’s tone was a clear warning. He knew the tall bastard had figured it out and was just making a scene of it. Well, he sort of deserved to enjoy it, even though he also kind of didn’t if you think about his behavior this past week.

Arrogant sod, thought John as he crossed his arms. “Well you’ve been sitting on it for five years, would you care to share?”

Sherlock smirked as he looked up from his phone, a loose curl falling across his forehead. “Voice command, John.”

The senior agent’s playfulness seemed out of place, considering his attitude this morning, but it was welcome nonetheless.

“Voice command? You got all that from not listening to me?”

Sherlock hesitated with a playful smile. “More or less.”

It wasn’t helping that Sherlock’s enthusiasm was contagious. He wanted to be irritated that he had been ignored once again, but John secretly loved when the man suddenly went into a flurry of words and movement as he figured out who was using an artifact and how to stop them. The brightness in the tall man’s eyes as he turned to John to lead them on a chase, the moment they shared when it was over and they had saved someone, or the world, yet again. John couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt a surge of adrenaline and endorphins like no other, because they shared the knowledge of what they had done, like their own incredible secret. Those moments with Sherlock, from the moment he saw the look in his eyes to the flash of neutralizer, were what John lived for, what he had unknowingly searched for all his life. And it all came with this incredibly arrogant, brilliant madman.

John lifted his eyes from the floor and they locked with Sherlock’s, still looking up from his Farnsworth, eyes half hidden behind eyelashes.

Some part of John wished he could see this side of him more often.

He watched as Sherlock went back to his research on his phone, a small smile on his face. John wanted to tease him that in five years he hadn’t thought of voice command, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood. Sherlock would never admit it, but John knew this case affected him more than he let on. So John opted for something he knew his partner would like; the possibility to show off.

“Why voice command on a GPS?” John asked innocently.

“Money.” Sherlock answered with a bored tone.

It was logical, when John thought about it, but that wasn’t the point of the conversation. “Money?”

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re going to manufacture a product, from a marketing point of view, low costing features that can be sold at ridiculous amounts because the average human being is lazy and likes gadgets and things that blink or glow in the dark, voice command had the possibility to bank a lot of money. So when you’re University buddies with one of Raj Reddy’s protégé’s, why not give him a ring and see if he’s interested in testing his technology on a GPS in exchange for an enormous amount of money. The only problem was, with 80s technology, the manufacturing costs were ridiculous, so the project was cancelled.”

“So you read about this in his notes?”

“There was only one copy and it was destroyed when the lab exploded, which would also coincide with the first sightings of the GPS. No, I looked up bank statements, the rest was logical.”

“Right. Of course. Or as much sense as its going to make considering we’re talking about an artifact.” John mused. “Um, who’s Raj Reddy?”

“Developed and perfected computer voice command in the late 60’s.”

John nodded. “So, if it does have voice command, we tell it to...”

“Go to the Warehouse.” Sherlock said in a deep tone as he crouched down as close to the GPS as he could. “All we need to figure out is how to activate voice command.”

A red LED lit up on the top left of the GPS.

“Voice command activated.” Said a broken computer voice.

“What just happened?” John asked, speechless.

“Shh.” Sherlock shushed with a wave of his hand, looked at his Farnsworth screen where John could see the user instructions. The agent took a breath and then spoke clearly. “Auxiliary.”

The screen display changed.

“Choose option.” The computer voice said before beeping. Sherlock’s eyes scanned the screen.

“Mission upload.”

“Enter coordinates.”

“51.50584 latitude, -0.13078 longitude, -6.46298 altitude.” Sherlock spoke carefully. They watched the screen cursor blink while it slowly processed the information.

“Coordinates accepted.” They heard as the numbers appeared onscreen. “Confirm mission?” The computerised voice asked. Confirm/Cancel could be read on the screen.

“Confirm.”

The LED switched off and the GPS disappeared.

“Eight seconds to process. Impressive for that era’s technology.” Sherlock commented and stood.

John straightened as well and faced his partner. “Did you just-?”

 Sherlock eyed the empty spot by the bin and cocked an eyebrow. “I believe I did.”

John did not notice how attractive it made him look. “Where exactly did you send it in the Warehouse?”

“If my calculations are correct, which I’m certain they are, the GPS should be in the middle of the experiment table in the office.” Sherlock stretched out his arm towards the entrance, a small smile on his face, but John could see his eyes shining with glee. “Shall we?”

Chuckling, John nodded and led the way towards the exit.

* * *

 

They walked into the office and there it was, in the middle of the experiment table.

John draped his coat across the back of a chair and stood there, his eyes lingering on his partner, watching him as he hung his suit jacket on the back of the computer chair and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

“It worked.” This explains why he went through the trouble of clearing the table, John added to himself.

Even though he seemed convinced they wouldn’t catch it, Sherlock had prepared, just in case. He wasn’t quite certain why, but it pleased John to know that.

“Of course it worked. Now, let’s have a closer look, shall we?” Sherlock replied as he walked around the experiment table to have a look at the GPS from every angle.

John was stunned. We? Sherlock had never included him in his experiments before, at least not knowingly. He didn’t know if the invitation was Sherlock’s way of making an effort or if he really was in that great of a mood.

Either way, might as well enjoy it.

With a pleased smile, John joined his partner along the table, both sets of eyes on the artifact.

Usually, when Sherlock was working on something, John had learned by now that it was better to just sit close by in case he needed anything; mostly a sounding board or throwing him a pen.

John liked watching him work; he mostly tried to guess what the brilliant man was working on, which was surprisingly difficult sometimes. John was use to standard science, which doesn’t apply here. The tools Sherlock used were also an added difficulty to the guessing game because most of them were artifacts. And who could blame him for using them to study other artifacts, not to mention that John was eager to use Rosalind Franklin’s original DNA Sequencer.

After a couple of weeks, John had started recognising some of them and figured out their use. Of course, he had tried asking questions but Sherlock was rarely in the mood to answer, so, resigned, John usually ended up reading a book nearby. 

Now that he was actually asking him to help, John felt the excitement of finally getting the chance to learn more about the “science” behind artifacts.

He broke the silence first. “So... where do we start?”

Sherlock reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the test subject and turned his head towards his partner, sizing him up. “Here,” he moved aside. “Have a go.”

John shot him a puzzled look. “You want me to…?”

“Analyse the artifact.” Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

“You’ve been at it for five years, what could I possibly find that you haven’t?”

“Humour me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” John looked down at the GPS centered on table. “I don’t know. I can’t test it for anything and I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat a few feet away from John. “Just start from the beginning and go from there.”

“Right.” John gave him a sceptic look and placed his hands on the table on either side of it. This was ridiculous. How were they supposed to experiment on this thing without touching it? He knew Sherlock was creative, but they weren’t going to get much more information then what they already had. Sighing, John concentrated on the GPS, willing himself to block out everything else, the same type of technique he would use as a sniper. He started to remember what he had read in the file, concentrating on that as well, and even though he still had no idea what Sherlock was expecting out of this besides showing off, John started from the beginning. “The Magellan NAV 1000; first GPS model to be manufactured for commercial use. It came out in the early nineties, which is obvious by its design and material choices. God, it looks like it came out of a Ghostbusters parody.”

“If you could stay on track-”

“You asked, deal with what you get.” John kept his gaze on the GPS but he could still picture his partner’s eye roll. “Um, basic button interface, display screen... So yeah, it can teleport. Either on its own, or when you touch it. Or if you try to push it off a shelf with a stick. Or a trap door-”

“John.” Sherlock warned.

“So, yeah, there’s no moving it.” John continued quickly with a smirk. “But it has voice command. Which is how we got it here or it never would have come on its own.” John paused at that.

He knew it was true, but it wasn’t for the reason he thought.

“Anything else?”

John didn’t hear him. “It’s too lonely here.” He whispered to himself, half surprised, half concerned. He remembered reading that the artifact had mainly been sighted in public places, but nothing in there explained why.

Then how did he know it didn’t like the Warehouse because it doesn’t like how lonely it feels here?

The office/flat came to mind.

“John?”

“Huh?” John was startled out of his thoughts. Did he just... feel an artifact? He couldn’t explain why, but he just knew that this artifact was miserable here. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Sherlock preceded his answer with an impatient sigh. “Anything else?”

John bit his tongue and shook his head before turning to get his own chair. He couldn’t see himself trying to explain how he knew the GPS preferred town chatter to dusty shelves. As he looked around the room, evading Sherlock’s stare, John could sort of relate.

Though he was never a very social man, it didn’t mean he wanted to be completely cut off from the world, which is how he felt most of the time since he’d become a Warehouse agent. He’d called Neeson a couple of times but it just made things worse. It’s not like he could talk about anything Warehouse related, and besides that, he had nothing to say. So he listened to Neeson’s stories, which just made him miss his team. So he had stopped calling. As much as he hated to admit it, his partnership with Sherlock really did have a huge impact on his day to day life since they were basically bound to the hip as soon as a ping was heard. And it was not like the madman was nowhere to be seen on their off days, finding new and inventive ways to destroy the flat. On good days, it was a non-artifact disaster.

The truth was he didn’t really mind the experiments and explosions and the chaos of it all. He just wished they could be friends.

John tried to not freak out about the fact that he had just empathised with an artifact.

“John, you alright?”

“Huh?” He suddenly realised he had been standing with his hands on the back of his chair for a moment and Sherlock was staring at him, concerned. “Oh, yeah, sorry, got a bit distracted there.” Clearing his throat, John focused on what they were doing. “So, how did I do?” He reluctantly asked as he settled in his seat.

“Good.” Sherlock mused. “You missed the most important thing but overall somewhat good for a first try.”

The former soldier looked at his partner with an odd mixture of annoyance and fondness.  Of course this had been a ploy to show off. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Don’t take it personally; I wasn’t expecting you to figure it out.” Sherlock told him offhandedly and he stippled his hands against his chin.

John rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “What did I miss?”

“The invitation.” The tall man’s eyes glimmered as he spoke.

“What invitation?”

“Someone went through the trouble of letting us know about the GPS. If they’re using this particular artifact, then the message is most likely a location. Hence, the invitation.”

John was concerned with his partner’s excitement. Anything sent via an artifact did not have a pleasant _safe_ future.

“Bit of a paranoid communication technique, don’t you think?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the artifact. “Then it must be important.” A small smile grew on his lips.

John’s concern grew to worry but he held it back. “Alright, so what’s the message?”  

“A destination.”

“I’m not that daft.”

“Depends on where it leads us.” Even though Sherlock knew that nothing good could possibly come of this, he was itching with anticipation, secretly hoping this was going to be worth his trouble. He was thankful the chase for the GPS hadn’t lasted long. He should probably thank John since it was his babbling that had triggered the idea. Later, he thought as he took out the printed pages of instructions and pulled his chair closer to the table.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His eyes smiled as he looked at John over his shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

John swallowed loudly. That shouldn’t have sounded as sexy as it did, he thought to himself.

“Activate voice command.” Sherlock stated clearly.

The LED lit up. “Voice command activated.”

“Auxiliary.” The screen display changed. Sherlock scanned the options. “Log.”

They waited as the artifact slowly accessed its log, listing what seemed like the complete list of locations it had visited over the years.

“Route.” Sherlock ordered instead, sighing impatiently at the GPS’s slow reaction time.

John wanted to ask what exactly he was looking for but wasn’t sure how the artifact would react to commands it didn’t understand. Instead, he reached for the instructions between them and almost protested out loud as Sherlock grabbed them before he could.

“Deactivate voice command.” John stated clearly and waited for the confirmation before turning to Sherlock. “What are you looking for?”

The senior agent pointedly ruffled the pages he was reading.

Sherlock’s irritation was obvious as he spoke. “The log is filled with thousands of coordinates. If someone went through the trouble of sending us a message, the destination meant for us to find should be obvious.”

“Why didn’t you go to waypoint?”

“Oh.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to be concerned. How could he not have thought of it himself? This was nothing like him? First the voice command, now this. It was so obvious; it was ridiculous he hadn’t figured it out all those years ago. He stared at his partner, noticing every muscle on his face as they attempted to hold back his amused grin, but his eyes were betraying him.

Pushing aside his thoughts to analyse later, Sherlock focused on their task. He leaned closer to the artifact and spoke clearly. “Activate voice command.”

“Voice command activated.”  The screen and red LED sprung back to life.

Sherlock turned to John and silently signaled him to give the command.

John didn’t stop the fond smile that spread across his face. He leaned across the table next to Sherlock and kept his eyes on him as he spoke. “Waypoint.”

The artifact beeped loudly before changing the display on its screen. They held their breath as they watched a single entry appear. Sherlock stretched over John to grab a pen and paper and scribble down the numbers as quickly as he could. As soon as he finished writing the last number, he headed straight for the Warehouse computer. John walked up behind him and waited silently as he watched the monitor.

“Huh. South Dakota.” Sherlock read out loud, zooming in on the location. John moved closer, half sitting on the desk. Sherlock looked at his partner’s reflection in the screen. Twice in one day, this man, this small deceiving man had surprised him and given him the key. He didn’t want to fight his smile.

“Seems random.” John murmured, squinting at the screen, his mind already wondering how long the plane ride would be. Looking down, his eyes met the gray blue, reminding him of their first meeting. Their first argument he joked to himself, unconsciously smiling back.

“You’ll see when you get there.” Mycroft’s voice came out of nowhere.

The agents simultaneously rolled their eyes and turned to face the Caretaker.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock’s tone was flat bearing on icy, quite a contrast from moments before.

“It seems congratulations are in order.” Mycroft answered with a fake smile, his brother’s passive aggressiveness ignored.

“And you moved your busy schedule around to come here?” Sherlock retorted sarcastically, sneering at his brother’s scowl.

Mycroft walked over to the experiment table and looked at the GPS a moment. “I felt this one deserved to be done in person.” He said slowly, looking up at his brother.

Sherlock scoffed, rolled his eyes and swiveled his chair back towards the screens.

John frowned, looked from one to the other. Something was off. He had heard enough to know that the GPS was some sort of baggage to Sherlock. So why was Mycroft smiling? Was he really just here to tease? What kind of an arsehole brother did that?

“Let’s hear it then.” John shifted on the desk to face Mycroft, crossed his arms and looked expectantly at the Caretaker.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You said you came all the way here to congratulate us on catching the infamous GPS.” John could see his partner’s head turn slightly towards him, but he kept his eyes on Mycroft. “So let’s hear it.”

Sherlock’s chair swiveled around, his foot stopping him abruptly, facing a sour faced Mycroft. John wanted to look at his partner but he needed to keep a straight face, relishing the small signs of his boss fighting to get the words out.

“Congratulations.” Mycroft said as he held back the scowl that wanted to spread across his face.

John wanted to burst out laughing. Surprising even himself, he nodded slowly, pursing his lips as he hummed a neutral approval.

“You can go now.” Was all they heard from Sherlock as he swiveled back towards his keyboard.

“Have a safe trip to the United States. And do keep me informed this time.” Mycroft told them before vanishing.

John wasn’t sure if he was honestly worried about them or simply wanted to have the last word.

The sound of Sherlock’s typing slowed. He gazed over his shoulder to confirm his brother had left. John looked at the floor before tilting his head towards his partner. Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked at him through his eyelashes. It took about three seconds before they burst out laughing.

“Seriously, what crawled up his arse and died?” John asked, out of breath.

“I don’t know but it’s been there a couple of years.” Sherlock commented deadpan, making John giggle so hard he had to steady himself, his hip bumping into Sherlock’s shoulder.

John’s laugh was infectious, but his giggle, especially a hysterical one like this, as if he were letting go, was Sherlock’s favorite. He’d never told him and had never tried to trigger it. No, it was better when it was spontaneous, honest. Like when he had gotten his hearing back; all of the relief and anxiety leaving him suddenly. The breathlessness, the tired but joyful smile and the way his eyes crinkled and shined with tears of laughter.

He had forgotten the sensation it created in his chest, as if there were a balloon slowly being filled with helium. Adding in the way he had humiliated Mycroft, Sherlock didn’t try to stop the smile spreading across his face.

Their eyes met, making them burst out laughing again.

As they slowly calmed down and caught their breath, Sherlock figured he might as well say it now, not knowing when a moment as pleasant as this one might happen between them again.

“Thank you.” The words felt odd as they left his lips.

It surprised John, making him snort a little before realising his partner was serious.

“For what?”

“I can’t take all the credit for catching the GPS.”

“And figuring out the _invitation_.”

“And that.”

“Well I’ll be.” John said with mocked surprise before chuckling.

Sherlock couldn’t find it in him to be anything other than happy, even though he was being teased.

“I’m just happy I could help, and I hope this shows you I am not completely useless in the field.”

“Yes, well, if you can bother to remember to put on gloves, I think-” Sherlock didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as John threw a paper ball at his head. He looked at John with wide eyes, genuinely surprised.

The shorter man threw his head back, laughing with his whole body. He kept laughing every time he saw his partner’s shocked expression.

Sherlock was stunned by the goofiness of the situation, the ease with which they had slipped into a friendly banter. He wasn’t sure what had changed between them, but he was glad it had. He took in the sight of John attempting to catch his breath, his neck and cheeks flushed, one hand on his chest, the other holding the side of the desk and placed it safely in John’s section of his mind palace.

“Hungry?” The question came out before Sherlock had time to think about it.

“Huh?” John asked breathlessly. “Yeah, I could eat.” He added, rubbing his belly. “But shouldn’t we pack first? That way we can get something on the way to the airport.”

“Tomorrow.” Sherlock stood. “Come on, I know this little place owned by a man I met on a case once, he always gives me free tiramisu to go.” The senior agent grabbed John’s coat and tossed it to him.

He caught his coat with a grin and listened to Sherlock tell the story of how he saved the restaurant owner from the Tanto Blades he had bought at a charity auction and got him out of a murder charge. He had eaten for free ever since.

John didn’t know what had changed between them and he didn’t want to over think it. Chuckling lightly, he followed Sherlock out of the office.

The door closed loudly behind them.

The LED light on the GPS came to life.

A small beeping sound was heard before it disappeared and reappeared in a crammed shelf in the Warehouse. A few seconds passed before blue sparks flickered around the GPS.

When the sparks appeared again, they had grown.

Their radius slowly increased until they began to reach surrounding artifacts.

* * *

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this one wasn’t really an action/adventure case. Honestly, I kind of see it as the “Blind Banker” episode of this series. It’s not the episode you watch over and over again but it’s important to the storyline. As much as this one was lacking action, the next one is simply filled with it. Not to mention the Johnlock slow burn that gets turned up a notch. 
> 
> I wish I could have given Irene more time in this one. She will be back, but only briefly, which saddens me because I went a bit crazy and did this HUGE back story that will not make it into the story. 
> 
> (Seriously, I argued about this with my betas and they were unanimous against the idea, you’ll see why.) 
> 
> BUT! I will write a one shot of her back story that will only be published after episode five because spoilers...
> 
> Basically, what I’m trying to say is: GOD DAMN I CANNOT WAIT TO WORK ON THE NEXT ONE.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have writing it.
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated, comments are the best :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you for kudos/comment, they bring me life and the motivation to keep writing this series :D
> 
> For updates on chapter releases and futur fics for this series, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://shamelessmash.tumblr.com/)


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